


O Brave New World...

by shewhowritestoomuch



Series: Perspective [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: 18th century medicine was fucked y'all, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, An exploration of the author's existential angst regarding gender and sexuality, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Parenthood, Pregnancy, References to Shakespeare, Series Rewrite, Surgery, Trans Character, Trans Silver, disguised as fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-07-16 12:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhowritestoomuch/pseuds/shewhowritestoomuch
Summary: The idea of Soulmates, while often causing more conflict than it resolves, had generally been accepted as a reason for otherwise reasonable people to do extraordinarily stupid things.Why else would John Silver have gotten on a merchant vessel destined to head right through pirate territory?(A series rewrite which could be seen as a sequel to 'A Rescue (from Three Perspectives)' but with soulmates, and pretty much every fandom headcanon that I ever took a liking to.)





	1. What's Past is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Before I say anything else, I think that it's relevant to say that like many fanfics, this one was written not only in response to an admittedly wonderful tv show, but also to deal with some things that were happening in my life while i was watching the show. So if you notice shit that seems weird, or overly specific, it's probably meant to be that way.
> 
> So, I actually started writing this shortly after I finished Black Sails. One of the things I found fascinating about the series was the way that it handled John Silver and his back story, and one of the really interesting things about the fandom was how people approached his backstory.
> 
> So I decided to just use every single headcanon I had for the man, and just chuck them together.
> 
> And then i decided that everyone deserved to be happy, and so i messed with canon a lot.
> 
> This doesn't have a beta reader, so if you notice any mistakes, feel free to let me know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

His baby was born in the chaotic galley of a merchant ship; amidst the sound of cannon-fire and men dying. He smiled as he gathered it up in the remnants of what had once been a potato sack, tying the ripped ribbon which had used to hold his hair back around the cord attaching it to the afterbirth; grunting as he used a blunt blade to cut it, his fingers fumbling as he tied a knot near the baby’s navel.

A glance at his wrist showed the black tattoo of a compass, the needle moving around chaotically in a way that could only mean that his soulmate was above-deck, whoever they might have been.

Returning his gaze to the baby, John frowned, taking in its slightly blue appearance and the lack of crying as a sign of something being wrong. While he’d spent the entirety of the labour in a state approaching Zen, he now felt his heart quicken as he brought the tiny body close to his chest, laying it over his shoulder and gently hitting it’s back as he had been taught to do by the lone midwife he’d seen while he was in London.

“C’mon, c’mon, all you need to do is breathe,” he tapped against its back again, breathing out evenly as he heard the footsteps of someone approaching the galley, “it’s the easiest thing you’ll ever do,” he breathed out again, tapping the babe’s back for a third time, “Please.”

He tapped again, and while he did not hear the sound of his baby breathing, he could feel it begin to squirm, and above all felt the cold liquid that had once filled its lungs running down his back.

He sighed in relief, placing it down upon the piece of sack again as he pulled his trousers up, doing an admirable job of ignoring the extreme pain that was radiating from the base of his spine as he leaned forward and picked the baby up again, standing and heading towards the door just as the ship’s cook barged in, a leather pouch held close to his chest.

If the cook had been a kinder sort of fellow, maybe John Silver would have reacted more reasonably, rather than lifting the blade he’d used just a few minutes ago in an abortive gesture of self-defence. If the baby hadn’t been such a wriggly, precious thing, maybe the cook wouldn’t have noticed it so quickly, and would not have moved towards it threateningly. Maybe if John Silver hadn’t just found one thing in the world he cared about more than himself, he wouldn’t have stabbed the man in the throat, nor wrenched the leather pouch from the dying man’s hands before collapsing onto the floor again.

He adjusted the baby in his arms and smiled down at her.

It was there, and in that position that he was found by the Walrus crew.

John knew that if he wanted to be understood by the men who found him, he would need to be quick, charming, and convincing.

And so, ignoring the pain that lanced up his spine, and the very unpleasant feeling of the fluid from the baby’s lungs drying on his back, he smiled, before kicking at the prone corpse of the cook.

“He couldn’t stomach the thought of what you might do to him. Me, on the other hand, well my name is John Silver and I happen to be a very good cook.”

This seemed to be enough for the pirate crew, the behemoth introduced to his as Billy leaning down and helping him, supporting him as they made their way onto the pirate ship. John held onto the baby, clutching it tight to his chest as he jumped from the deck of his own ship to that of the Walrus, ignoring the curious looks of the other men on deck.

Billy turned to him, looking down upon him with the faintest hint of concern before he began to speak, “Look, to be honest, a pirate ship isn’t the best place for a newborn.”

“Believe it or not, I’m, quite aware of that.” John grimaced as another wave of pain radiated from the base of his spine, shifting the baby in his arms to stop himself from dropping it.

“Is the mother…?” Billy started, stopping when John’s snapped his head up, looking at him not in anger, but confusion.

John took the precious few seconds he could to think about his answer, this was a new life, something to treasure. Something to use to make himself a new man in the eyes of everyone.

He breathed in deep, “She died the day before yesterday,” he looked down at the child, smiled at it as it tried to move closer to the warmth of his chest. “Buried at sea. I’m all…” he stopped, while he could be perfectly comfortable in referring to his baby as an ‘it’, he knew that most people would find it strange. “We’re all that’s left.”

Billy nodded, pushing him towards one of the chests from the ship, now lying closed upon the deck of the ship. “Stay here, I’ll figure something out with the quartermaster.”

John nodded, smiling at the baby as he sat down carefully. While sitting was slightly more painful than standing had been, he was glad for the weight off of his feet.

“We’re going to be fine,” he moved the potato-sack to the side briefly, replacing it after a few seconds, smiling down on his daughter. “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to call you, I didn’t really believe that this was happening until you started kicking, and by then we’d already reached London and signed the papers.”

The baby closed her eyes, exhausted from her won birth, leaving John alone with his thoughts once again. He sat there, pondering his life for a few seconds before a middle aged and portly man sat next to him, demanding John’s attention without even breathing a word.

“Billy tells me you’re a turncoat,” the man smiled at him, clearly willing to wait for John to speak.

“I wouldn’t call myself a turncoat,” John laughed bitterly, “More a pragmatist. Someone who can recognise when it is a good idea to adjust their life-plan for the sake of their survival. I was a rigger standing watch in the crows-nest,” he lied “I knew that you were coming, before anyone else did. I could have told them, gotten them to change course, but I didn’t. Now, right now you’re probably wondering why.”

“You’d be bloody right.”

“Well, you see, my whole life, from birth, people have treated me badly. Even them,” he gestured back to his former ship where the bodies of his former crew-mates were being trod on by the pirates who were transporting the loot from the ship over to their own. “At the moment, you’re the better option.”

The man stared pensively at John for a few seconds, his gaze seemingly piercing through his skin and down to John’s soul as he deliberated.

“My name is Gates. You can stay until we at least get to Nassau. The baby’ll have to stay there.”

John nodded, wincing as he stood with Mr. Gates. “And where do I go in the meantime?”

Mr. Gates chuckled ominously, gesturing for Billy to show John below decks.

He was greeted there by the stench of goat-shit, slightly rotten vegetables and the particular smell that built up whenever more than three men were kept in close quarters for a longer period of time than a week.

Oh, and of course a man who looked to be half mad wielding a knife while the bosun explained John’s new role on board the ship.

Of course, this was going to be his lot in life, of course it fucking was.

He settled down next to a half mad man in the galley and began the arduous task of peeling potatoes while the behemoth known as Billy turned up and began explaining the ship’s rules to him. It all seemed very straightforward, no favouritism, no looking down on Randall (who by all accounts had been a respected bosun before an enemy crew had beaten him halfway to madness), no giving the crew food poisoning.

John wasn’t really paying much attention. Instead he focused upon the baby, who was tied to his chest in a makeshift sling, and who seemed overly interested in the knife, despite the fact that she wasn’t even a day old and should have been be sleeping.

He’d almost finished peeling the potatoes when Billy nudged him on the arm. John looked up, suddenly concerned when he saw that Billy looked like he had two heads.

“You alright?”

John shook his head and laid down his knife.

“I just…” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” He adjusted the baby in the sling that was holding her tight to his chest and smiled at her. “I’ll be fine when I can rest for a bit.”

Billy did not look convinced.

“I know you’re new, but no-one is going to begrudge you if you want to see the ship’s surgeon.” Billy smiled and scooped the baby out of John’s arms and offered him a hand up before there was a chance for him to protest, “I mean he’s no expert on babies, but he could take a look at her.”

John shook his head and took the baby back. He started to follow Billy as he was shown about the crew’s quarters in the hold, though he had to pause frequently under the guise of adjusting his daughter in his arms.

It was excruciating, for sure, but at least he was moving in aid of a better life for him and the baby. He could weather it.

Or at least he thought that he could. Just as Billy was finishing hanging up the hammock that was to be his on the voyage back to Nassau, John’s legs fell out from under him, and it was only the presence of a crewmember behind him that prevented him from and the baby toppling to the ground completely.

Billy finished with the hammock and walked over to him.

“Okay, I know that you aren’t alright if you’re falling like that,” Billy and the man helped him onto the hammock, and for a second, John forgot that he had given birth only a few hours before. “when was the last time that you ate?”

John shrugged and adjusted the baby to be lying on her stomach atop of his chest. In truth he wasn’t actually sure, all he knew was that he’d been in labour for at least a day and a half, during which point he’d only had access to water; and that he’d been in a state of nausea so strong for at least for the three days before that he hadn’t been able to keep anything down for more than five minutes.

“A few days? Since before she was born.”

Billy frowned.

“That can’t be good for you or for her. I’ll take her for a few minutes while you sleep.”

“What about food for the crew?” John was too weak to protest the way in which Billy removed his daughter from his arms.

“Randall might be half cracked, but he still knows how to make a stew. I’ve got to go talk to the captain, but he’s won’t mind me holding onto her while we talk.” Billy looked at the crewmember that had helped him onto the hammock, “Muldoon, don’t let him get up for at least a half-hour.”

John had fallen asleep by the time that Muldoon replied.

* * *

John woke a few minutes before they arrived in Nassau port. Even from under decks he could see that the light had gone from the sky, and that he had nearly definitely missed the crew’s dinner.

He groaned and sat up, the beginnings of panic starting to rise in his chest when he couldn’t see the baby anywhere in sight. He tried getting up, only for the pain in his entire lower half which had abated during his slumber to start anew.

Someone coughed behind him, and John turned to see Muldoon holding onto the baby. While his tiredness had abated somewhat, the pain was still there and so he moved very gingerly as he held out his arms for his daughter.

“Billy figured that you would be more of a nuisance than anything if he got you to do anything before you had some sleep.”

“He’s probably right,” John held the baby close to his chest, breathing out a sigh of relief as he catalogued all of the ways in which she was well and alive. “I’m sorry that you had to look after her.”

“We didn’t take much damage on the fight, the carpentry work was done before Billy had even shown you around the galley. He reckons that you’re a fucking idiot for not telling us you were sick before we took you on.”

“Would you have preferred to leave me on the other ship?” John winced as he turned over. “Not have to deal with the cost of an utter idiot?”

He should have known that this whole abandoning everything he’d ever known for the possibility of acceptance and a better wage was a crock.

Muldoon pushed him back into a reclining position and adjusted the way he was holding the baby.

“Of course not. You should have seen Billy when we took him from the press-gangers. Barely more than skin and bone, could hardly walk for the first three days he was aboard. But we took care of him, and then when he got well he started taking care of us” Muldoon sighed, “We wouldn’t have put you to work, might have even convinced Flint to let you use his bed.”

Muldoon smiled. He walked forward and held out a hand to John. “I’ve talked to the men and they’ve talked to the Captain, he says you’re to see Howell as soon as you possibly can.”

John shook his head.

“I don’t need a ship’s surgeon to tell me what I already know.”

“And what’s that?”

John forced a smile as he used Muldoon’s offered hand to leverage himself out of the hammock.

“That I need to sleep, eat, and most likely have a bath. I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.”

Muldoon didn’t look convinced. He stayed by John’s side as they ascended the stairs, his arms out to make sure that John didn’t fall backwards.

By the time that John made it up onto deck, the ship had dropped its anchor, and the men were readying the longboats. Muldoon called out to one of the more senior looking ones, who took one look at John before he swore and gestured for them to approach the first longboat.

“Jesus Muldoon, I see what you meant about him looking like shit.”

If John had been in a less fevered state, he might have taken offense to that comment, but as it was, he just nodded tiredly and allowed himself to be helped into the boat by Muldoon, Logan, and Billy.

The bosun looked at him with an expression approaching concern as he helped John to sit down on the rough wooden seat.

“I know you say that you’re fine, and if you want to lie to the crew about that, it’s fine. But please, for the love of Christ, go see a doctor, yeah?”

John nodded, and spent the time it took to get to shore in something of a hazy dream-state, his only to connection to reality being the heavy weight of his daughter in his arms. No doubt there would be a brothel in Nassau town, and he’d be able to see what was wrong with him there.

The sand of the beach wormed its way into his shoes as he walked towards the buildings visible from the sand. Despite the cool wind blowing in from the ocean, he still felt over-warm, and if he wasn’t mistaken, feverish.

He knew his chances, he also knew that they weren’t good. His aunt had been taken by a birthing fever when he was eight. The doctors hadn’t been able to do much other than dab at her forehead with a damp cloth. In the end it had taken only two days for her to pass. His baby cousin, without a mother, hadn’t taken too long to follow her.

If that was what he was suffering through, he had to find a place where she would be safe.

John paused by what looked to be a blacksmiths with a small alley between it and another building. The coals still glowed orange in the dimness, and John reckoned that there would be somebody along to tend to the shop in a few minutes, an hour at most.

He sat next to the door of the little hut and pulled his daughter up from her sling to look her properly in the eye. She looked at him with her shrewd newborn eyes and leant her head back against his hands.

She was perfect, and definitely far too good for him.

He knelt, despite the twinges of pain he felt in his lower half. He laid her on the ground, beside the door where there was no risk of someone tripping on her. The blanket took a while to arrange around her little form, at first it seemed too tight, like it would overheat her, and then it seemed too loose and liable to let in a draft. On the third time, despite never having done this before, he decided that she was well wrapped enough to be a healthy temperature.

“I just want you to know that I love you so much. If I could, I would change the whole world so that it would give you everything you deserve,” he smiled as she looked him straight in the eye, her eyes already darkening even though she wasn’t yet a day old. “But I don’t think that I have the strength, or the time to do that for you.”

He leant forward and kissed her on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he smiled down at her confused little face. “You deserve to have someone who takes care of you who is better than I am. I don’t know how to take care of you. Someone here might.”

He kissed her on the forehead again before he straightened up again.

“I’m so… so very sorry.”

He took one step back towards the beach. Muldoon had been kind, maybe he would make his last hours more bearable.

And then she started crying. A small whimpering sound that might have been ignored by anyone other that the baby’s father. It would get louder soon, and someone would find her, and love her, and make a life for her that was better than anything that he could provide.

He took another step away, closing his eyes against the overwhelming haze provided by the few lights of the street.

The crying intensified, and became frightened. Surely any moment now, someone would hear the plaintive cries, and would come to rescue her from the hard ground.

John took a final step away.

His daughter cried with all of the might that her tiny lungs could provide her with.

It became clear to John that nobody was going to come for her. The alley was too well hidden, and it was likely, now that he thought about it clearly, that there wouldn’t be anyone going near that blacksmith until dawn at the earliest.  He cursed himself and turned back, hastening to return to his daughter and to fall by her side.

“I’m sorry,” he picked her up and held her tight against his chest. He began to sob. “Oh god, I’m so sorry my darling. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His daughter moved in his arms, seeming to seek to burrow towards the heat of his chest, even as he cried. She had stopped crying the minute that he had picked her up, so the only sound that echoed through the small alley was his own sobs.

He waited until it stopped feeling like his heart was trying to crawl up his throat, and then he wiped the hot tears off of his face and stood up.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he took a step out of the alley, and towards the street. “We’re going to find a doctor, and then we’re going to find somewhere to stay.” He smiled at her as he started walking through some of the busier places.

She chose that moment to spit up all over his shoulder.

“I deserve that,” he felt a twinge in his spine, and so he sat down on one of the benches outside the tavern. He laid her down on the table and redid her wrappings, now that there was no risk of her being left alone in the cold.

He smiled as she reached out for him with one tiny hand.

“There’s a man aboard that ship who’s meant for me,” he let her catch his thumb. “I don’t know what he’ll think of you, but I think we’ll find a way to make it work. I promise that I’ll never try to leave you again. I promise you.”

She was oblivious to the dilemma of his soulmate and it seemed also to his oaths to always protect her, instead she stared up at the multitude of stars that dotted the clear night sky.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful thing,” he picked her up and began to rock her gently in his arms. “Despite everything,” he snorted and leaned against the tavern wall, “I’m glad you were born outside of London. Here might have too many fucking pirates, but at least you can see the stars.”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

A man sat opposite him, John opened his eyes.

The man was, and this was a completely objective view of him, decidedly ugly. Scars criss-crossed his face, and there was a mean glint in his cold blue eyes.

“You’re the cook, aren’t you?”

John nodded and held the baby just a little bit closer to his chest.

“I don’t think I know you, sorry Mr…?”

The man’s mouth stretched in what john assumed was an attempt at a crooked smile.

“Singleton. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into. You’re new, the captain had an unexpected stroke of luck today. I wanted to make sure that you didn’t mistake that for actual talent on his part.”

Singleton was absolutely repulsive. It might have been the fever heightening John’s senses, but the man smelt like he hadn’t washed in an even longer time than John, and his breath was rancid.

Of course, John did not put these complaints to voice. He stayed silent and smiled, as he had been trained to do his entire life. He did his best to look receptive to the ideas, and tried not to make is obvious how tightly he held onto his daughter.

“Why do you think that I need to know this?”

Singleton snarled. Silver assumed that it was meant to be a smile.

“Just let me say that I don’t think that he has a good chance of being Captain for very much longer. The _Walrus_ needs a strong captain who’ll be able to take good prizes, and command a powerful crew,” Singleton stood and looked down upon John. “I would suggest when the time comes for a vote, that you remember who that Captain would be.”

Singleton left, and John sighed out in relief. He stood, and began to walk in the direction of the building which he assumed was the brothel. He’d spent enough time around the places to be able to recognise one when he saw them.

He’d find a doctor, and then they’d be fine.


	2. All that Glitters is not Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how you spell weasely. Weaselly? Weasley? Someone put me out of my misery (by providing a comment, no assassinations please)
> 
> On a more serious note, I hope you enjoy. Please tell me if I've made any mistakes, or if there was something you particularly liked.

James Flint, known only to a select few as James Barlow, and to an even smaller number as James McGraw, was not a patient man. Nor was he fond of the all too familiar sting that accompanied failure; especially not when he had sacrificed so much to get to a point.

Hence, it was with no small amount of displeasure that he had opened the Captain’s log of the conquered ship to find that the page with the schedule of the _Lima de Urca_ had been torn out; thus rendering all of his hard work and strategic lying to the crew utterly pointless.

He had stormed over to the _Walrus_ , hoping to find some solace in his cabin, but even in that he had been foiled; it had been no more than two seconds after entering the cabin that he heard Gates entering behind him.

“I am not in the mood, Mr. Gates. Whatever you wish to discuss can wait a few hours, surely?” He thought it was a reasonable request, seeing that there was a very high likelihood that the meagre takings of this raid would incite a mutiny.

“You didn’t find it? Did you Captain?” Hal harrumphed, walking towards the desk, rather than out of the cabin entirely as James would have preferred “You know Singleton is kicking up a stink, and I think he’s got the votes to be able to do something damaging with it.”

James looked down at his wrist, frowning even more when he saw that one of the compasses tattooed against his wrist, the one which had always pointed in the opposite direction of the other two, was pointing at the entrance of his cabin door.

“He wanted to bring on more men, I managed to talk him down to just a cook, but there’s a real risk that they aren’t going to wait until we get to Nassau to raise their grievances.”

He barely heard Hal, focussing instead on the small movements of the compass point. While he’d been aware that his soulmate had been on the other ship, had used it to track Parrish’s ship when he’d twigged onto that particular fact, he hadn’t been expecting to meet them so soon.

James turned around, only slightly disappointed when he saw that Hal was alone.

“A cook?”

“Yes, forgive me Captain,” and oh, even in his highly exhausted state, James could feel the way the honorific had been spat out, “but I think there are more important things to consider than taking on a cook.”

James shrugged, pushing himself away from his desk and gesturing for Hal to follow him.

“I’ll deal with Singleton. Tell me about the cook.”

Hal sighed.

“Billy found him below decks on the ship, and seeing as we’ve been dealing with Randall for a six month, I said we could keep him, of course, Singleton wants more, probably so that he can unseat you as captain, but never mind that,” James spared a look at Hal as he reached the door, noting the displeasure on his quartermaster’s face, “Like you said, you’ve got it under control.”

They walked out of the cabin, James’ eyes going straight to where his crew had tied up the Captain, and where Singleton was sharpening his tools. He held one hand up to still Hal’s speech, walking past his disgruntled subordinates, and walking towards Captain Parrish.

The man was clearly terrified as James approached him, his eyes flickering all over the ship, no doubt in search of an escape route that would not come. He approached the man until he could be sure that no-one would overhear what we had to say, then began to speak.

“Tell me what you did to the page, the one torn from your log-book.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me what you did with the page, and I’ll stop all of this.”

They both looked over to where Singleton was speaking to the remaining crew of the captured vessel. James supposed he must have been rehearsing this speech for a long time, given how it could be used, almost word for word, to describe him in the past few months.

“Call your men off, I don’t know anything.” The Captain looked at James, his expression hardening as he realised something. “You can’t can you?”

James stayed silent for a few seconds, before looking back to the Captain.

“Tell me anything that helps me, and I’ll put a stop to this. Doesn’t have to be the page, anything that takes the pressure off of me, and I won’t let my Man at Arms torture you to death.

“Thank you.” The Captain looked at him, clearing his throat before he continued, “In the belly of the ship, where there should be nothing but ballast, there is a collection of black-market items, the likes of which could make a very nice profit, if you chose to move it to your ship. It’s why we fought against you instead of surrendering, the insurance doesn’t even come close to value of what we were carrying.”

James tilted his head slightly, before looking at the deck where Gates, who had been silently observing the two men’s interactions, was standing. “Mr. Gates, take Billy, Joji, and Joshua to see if he’s telling the truth. The men won’t mind staying a few more hours if it more than doubles our profits.”

He waited for Hal to gather the men before he stepped back. He walked towards his cabin, ignoring Singleton’s jeers as he entered and sat at his desk.

Dufresne entered soon after, a tally of their shares with the new loot accounted for held in his arms.

“Surely it’s better than eight dollars a man, Mr. Dufresne?”

“It’s increased. They were carrying several barrels of tobacco, some sugar from Havana, good quality rum, and several bolts of fine fabric. It seems that they’d been trading with the Spanish.”

“There’s no longer a war to prevent that from happening across the board legally,” James shrugged. “How much more per man Mr. Dufresne, keeping in mind that we’ve lost one.”

“With what we’ve found, the share per man increases to 35 dollars.”

James harrumphed. “It’s enough for a fuck and a drink, what more could they ask for?”

Dufresne shrugged. “The men think that this is only a fluke, that you finding the haul was more a stroke of luck, rather than any indication of your skill as a captain.”

“And what do you think, Mr. Dufresne?” He looked up at the man, in a way he knew all to well was more threatening than could be considered helpful in this stressful situation. “What do you think of my skills as a Captain?”

Dufresne hummed, looking to the door before he returned his gaze to James.

“I’m an accountant, I only care about the figures.”

He left James alone in his cabin.

James walked over to the windows of his cabin, looking out at the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean as they headed through the Caribbean Sea and towards home. Now that he new the mutiny had been put off for a few days, until his men ran out of whores and liquor, he allowed his eyes to stray to the soul-mark upon his wrist.

His marks with Thomas and Miranda stayed stationary for the most part, the distance between him and them at this moment meaning that a large distance would have to be travelled before their compass points moved noticeably. The third, the one that had been the source of the most consternation to him after becoming a pirate, moved constantly, as his soulmate, who he presumed to be a cook, moved around in the galley of _The Walrus_.

Part of him wanted to leave the cabin, and at least catch a glance of the man. A larger part, one which sounded remarkably like Hal, reminded him of the animosity his men felt for him, and how surrounding himself with them before they got a hold of their money would likely result in his death.

So he stayed. He walked back to his desk, allowing himself to open the third volume of the Captain’s Log to where someone had torn the page with the _Urca_ schedule from it.

He supposed, seeing as Gates would have had all of the bodies, both living and dead, of the captured ship searched, it must have been lost to the sea.

It was a complication, but not a terrible one. If he could get an audience with Richard Guthrie, and use the man’s connections with Spanish Naval Intelligence, he would be able to make a replica of the schedule. Hell, he might even be able to blame the theft on Singleton if the man continued to challenge his authority on the ship. The only problem would be trying to convince the men of the veracity of his statement; even if Gates confirmed it, the men might doubt him, given the amount of times that Gates had gone against their best interests in his support of him.

He would talk to Miranda when he returned to his home. She understood the nature of men better than him after all, and would no doubt be able to provide him with some sort of insight on how to best to manipulate the situation to best suit his interests.

Having a rudimentary plan in mind, he stood again, walking over to his bookshelf and taking his well-read copy of _Meditations_ from his bookshelf, smiling as he traced over the inscription from Thomas with one hand. It was in this position that Gates found him a few minutes later.

“There’s silk, rum, tobacco on this ship thanks to you. It’s enough to satiate the crew for now.”

“But not you?”

James looked up, he’d known this had been coming, after all, it was Hal’s duty as a quartermaster to question him when need be.

“Maybe this wasn’t what I raided the ship for, but you can’t deny that it’s a win.” He stood and walked around his desk until he faced Hal with no obstructions between them.

“Barely, and only because of what can only be described as divine provenance. The men haven’t been happy for the last few months, and if you think that this is enough for them to forget the many short hauls that we’ve brought in, then you’re an idiot.”

“I don’t and I’m not.” Flint stood, walking over to Gates, using the few extra inches he had to look down at him, “And I can assure you, once we’ve recovered the missing log-book page, and recovered the treasure, they’d happily forget if I fucking buggered Charles Vane on the main deck.”

Gates shrugged, obviously completely nonplussed by the image James had conjured. “I’ll oversee the men, we should be back in Nassau before the day’s out.”

“Anything else?”

Hal glared at him in the practiced way that made him the first among the many of Nassau’s quartermasters. He straightened up to his full height, forcing James back a few steps until he was leaning back against his desk.

“Billy might be in later, said he might need to talk to you.”

He turned and left, leaving James by himself in the cabin for a few moments before Billy walked in with a baby in his arms. James couldn’t help but smile at the young boatswain, who looked quite ridiculous carrying a babe while he was still in his battle-paint.

“Is there something you neglected to tell me, Mr. Bones?”

He walked forward until he could take the child from Billy. While he was sure that the man wouldn’t drop the tiny thing, he was sure that he had more experience in carrying them; there had been a multitude of them in Padstow when he had grown up, many of them related to him by some degree, and he’d learnt how to hold them safely and for long periods of time.

He picked her up out of Billy’s arms, holding her upright and against his shoulder. A babe this small needed time spent like this, he had learnt many years ago, lest they get a sickness in the ears and cause everyone to suffer when they cried from the pain of it.

“Um, not about me exactly, but it’s related to the baby. The cook is claiming she’s his daughter.”

“And you doubt him?” James moved one hand to better support her head, allowing a small smile to potentially ruin his fearsome reputation as captain when he felt her little breaths start to cause condensation on his shirt.

Billy frowned, shaking his head. “No,” he sighed, “it’s just that he seems quite ill, but he says that he wasn’t hurt when we took the ship, and he won’t let anyone get Dr. Howell to see to him, even though there’s no-one who seems to be in a worse state than him on board.”

James sighed, this wasn’t the first time that fragile male egos had led his men into stupidity.

“If he doesn’t want to see the doctor I can hardly compel the doctor to tend to him. This isn’t the Navy.”

The baby stirred, and for the first time James noticed how tiny she was.

So tiny, and so very covered in a sticky mucus.

James would be the first to admit that he was not particularly well acquainted with the miracle of birth. He’d never been in any danger of experiencing it himself, and despite the many nights spent with Miranda, she’d not borne him any sort of fruit. To him, the practical side of birth was a complete mystery.

Still, even he could tell what a newborn looked like.

It seemed that the cook was lying to them about the providence of his baby. And that would not do. But a ship was not the place to have this sort of conversation, and if Hal was right, and there were no unexpected storms on the horizon, he’d be able to confront the man when they reached Nassau, and he had more allies behind him.

He returned the baby to Billy, adjusting the Boatswain’s hold on her when he found it to be lacking.

“Take her back to the cook. I’ll talk to him about whatever he’s done to make him ill when we reach the shore.”

“He really looks terrible.”

“If he starts convulsing, then you can take him to Howell, but for now just keep an eye on him. What was he doing last you saw him?”

“Sleeping.”

James rolled his eyes. “Very suspicious,’ he sighed. “Like I said Mr. Bones, keep an eye on him, don’t let Singleton near him if you can help it, and help Mr. Gates with whatever he asks for the next few hours. I would hate for him to have an apoplectic fit.” He grinned in the manner that Thomas had once dubbed as being sharklike and returned to sit behind his desk in a clear sign of dismissal.

Billy left the cabin promptly.

James found that he had little desire to stay by himself in the cabin, instead preferring to walk out onto the deck.

DeGroot was standing at the helm, controlling the course of the ship while shouting out instructions to the rest of the crew. James walked over to him, taking a few seconds to appreciate the warmth of the sun on his face before he began to speak.

“I’d say that we’re less than a day from Nassau port, would you concur Mr DeGroot?”

The senior most pirate aboard the _Walrus_ didn’t seem to appreciate the attempt at friendliness. He glared at James and sighed before he answered.

“With a bit of help from the winds we’ll be there before nightfall.” As always, the sailing-master had to bring attention to something negative, “though with the load we’re carrying, we’ll be a bit slower than usual. Especially as we haven’t careened in a fair few weeks.”

“I’ll make it my first priority after we’ve unloaded the goods.”

DeGroot grunted in assent. James took this as his cue to move on, smiling as he saw Gates walk over to him.

“We moved some of the bodies below the deck, but she’ll go over within the hour. You can still see what’s left her if you like.”

“Do you think it’ll be a problem for us?”

Hal shook his head, pointing out some small dots which must have been the ship’s longboats.

“Most of the men managed to get off the ship. I’d wager that another merchant ship will pick them up before the day’s out. They didn’t exactly choose an obscure route.”

James nodded, and let his quartermaster be.

Singleton was lazing on the other side of the deck, clearly neglecting his duties in the rigging to sneer at James.

The man had been trying to oust him for nearly the same amount of time that he’d been on ship, immediately taking issue with the entirety of Flint’s aspect. So far it seemed as though he’d managed to sway a good third of the crew towards his side, helped by a recent run of raids that had been more trouble than they were worth. James was certain that the man was going to try to push for a vote in the next few months and found himself desperately trying to sway the men back to his side.

He was not helped in the least by his frequent visits to the interior, where, if the more superstitious members of his crew were to be believed, he had entered into an unholy union with a witch and a demon possessing the body of a poor soul drowned at sea. The crew found him unnerving; too well read, too vicious, and worst among all these things, completely and utterly ruthless in the pursuit of his goals, whatever they might be.

James sighed, he’d worry about the Singleton issue, along with that of the cook, when they arrived back to Nassau. For now, he had a ship to command.

* * *

It wasn’t until a few hours later that he managed to return to his cabin, confident that now the ship was in sight of Nassau, the crew couldn’t possibly do anything idiotic enough to sink the ship and its cargo. Dufresne was still tallying the cargo, adjusting his original assumptions about the total and from that each man’s share, barring James from even touching any of the captain’s books before they had been accounted for.

James wasn’t too upset, aside from a collection of Chaucer, there had been little of interest in the Captain’s Cabin of the now sunken ship. Besides, the mystery of the cook weighed too heavily on his mind for him to have even considered reading anything.

His mark hadn’t appeared on James’ wrist for a good eight years after his birth. While there was a gap of five years between himself and Thomas, they had gotten along easily once they had gotten past the initial awkwardness which came from being of such different backgrounds.

What did the universe think he had in common with a cook? There was a very low chance that the man had ever read a book, or that he would know any language other than English. That coupled with the gap in their ages gave James very little common ground to work with in trying to establish a relationship with the man. And that wasn’t even beginning to bring the baby into the equation.

James sighed at the conundrum that he was being faced with.

“Captain?” Dufresne had opened the door and was peering in at him.

“Don’t tell me that we’ve lost all of the money already, Mr. Dufresne.”

The weaselly man shook his head, adjusting his grip on the ledger that seemed to be melded to his body as he walked further into James’ cabin. He stopped a fair few feet away from the desk – out of reach grabbing range, James noted – suggesting that the news might not be as good as he would hope.

“No, it’s just that the men are having a debate about whether the cook should get a share.”

“He didn’t help us raid the ship, nor did he tell us about the loot, I don’t see why he would.”

Dufresne shook his head.

“It’s just that he’s already started to peel the potatoes for tonight’s dinner, and some of the men, Muldoon and Logan and the like, have taken well to the baby, and they’re worried that he won’t be able to provide for her when he gets to the shore.”

James groaned, he hadn’t even met the man and already his soulmate was giving him a headache.

“This sounds more like a matter for the men to vote on than for me to decide, Mr. Dufresne, after all, this isn’t the fucking Navy.”

Dufresne nodded but didn’t leave. He moved his weight from one foot to the other, and looked to be ready to speak again before James stood and fixed him with a glare.

“What?”

“Muldoon doesn’t think that the vote would go in the cook’s favour.”

James rolled his eyes as he leaned upon his desk, glaring at Dufresne.

“I understand, you want me to use my privilege as Captain to subvert the very principles that we hold dear as free men, giving my opponents on board, like Singleton, ample opportunity to denounce me as tyrant, for the sake of the cook we only just picked up.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” Dufresne sighed, “If you could come up with a solution to this conundrum, it might help to ease tensions below.”

James sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t become a lieutenant without a quick mind to aid him in his endeavours. His mind went to the reserve used for food, rum, and Howell’s medical supplies.

“Do we have much in the account for food?”

“Enough for two week’s provisions I would say.”

“If he, or his daughter need to access it for medical costs, they can take a loan. As for food, he’s welcome to whatever he makes tonight, and the baby can have milk from the dairy goat.”

Dufresne did not look like he was going to move, his mind processing James’ words.

“Before I die of old-age, Mr. Dufresne.

The ship’s accountant nodded, and left him in peace.

He closed his eyes, suddenly entertaining the possibility that he might actually be able to prevent his crew from committing mutiny if he managed to keep this role as peace-keeper up.

He must have closed his eyes for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he could hear Mr. Logan shouting that Nassau had been sighted, and Muldoon launching the long-boats.

He might even be able to see his family before night-fell, if all things went well.

His thoughts were interrupted as Gates and Billy entered his cabin, the younger of them fidgeting with his hands behind his back. James could understand why, the look on Hal’s face darker and stormier than any tempest he’d faced in recent memory.

“There’s no sign of the page in any of the crates, and it definitely wasn’t on the ship when we left.”

Billy began to elaborate, “We searched all of the merchant vessel’s crew when we were putting their bodies in the hold.”

James frowned at the news, realisation dawning on his face at the same time that it dawned upon Hal’s.

“The cook.”

None of the men where surprised when Flint upturned his desk, nor when he began to throw chairs across the room.

“I’m going to strangle that little shit,” he gestured for Gates to follow him, “We have to stop him from launching.”

“You won’t be able to do that Captain.” It spoke well to the strong character of the bosun that he didn’t flinch when Flint’s furious gaze was directed at him, “I helped him onto the boat myself. You’ll… we’ll have to wait for the next boat.”

Flint shook his head furiously, turning to leave the cabin, “No matter, it’s not like he can escape me.”

He was stopped from leaving again by Gates, “Captain, have you considered what the crew will think if you murder a man in cold blood while he’s carrying a newborn?”

“Fuck the crew!” He turned to his quartermaster, knowing that his fierce expression would not change the man’s mind, but hoping for some sort of result.

“How many votes do you think Singleton will get if you do that?”

James paused, shaking his head. He could recognise the quartermaster’s logic, much as he was loathe to admit it. “And what would you suggest that I do Mr. Gates?”

“You and I both know that he can not evade you for long, It would be folly to tip him off to your displeasure and give him a window to escape from Nassau. It will take him time to find a buyer if that is indeed what he is searching for-”

“If?!”

Gates frowned at him before continuing, “It will take time for him to find a buyer, you can wait at least an hour to pursue him, without even tipping him off.”

James could see the logic, his ten years as a pirate had not completely robbed him of that capability. Still, he could feel the fiery rage thrumming underneath his skin, the desire to hunt, to hurt, to kill burning through him.

After a few seconds, he nodded, turning back to his quartermaster. He returned to his desk, opening the captain’s log to the missing page, trying to discern if the records had been written with enough force to leave an imprint upon the page.

“Well then, Mr. Gates, I suggest you ensure that there’s a longboat reserved for our use in a half hour.”


	3. Hell is Empty and All the Devils are Here

The brothel looked to Silver as most brothels looked; crowded, dirty and full of half-dressed women. He didn’t see any men in a similar state of undress, and a small part of him sighed in relief at the thought that he wouldn’t be mistaken for one of the whores.

He stayed in the shadows outside the building until his eyes alighted upon one of the more senior looking whores, who looked like she might know where to find who he was looking for. He successfully dodged the more overt girls located at the front of the inn, deftly manoeuvring between the tables to sit in front of her. He could tell that she was on the verge of opening her mouth to tell him that he should take his business elsewhere when he held up a hand.

“I know what you’re thinking, I don’t plan on leaving the baby here to be raised by a colony of whores, and nor do I wish to bother you,” he sighed heavily as pain lanced up his back as he arranged the baby in his arms. “I merely require the use of the doctor most closely associated with this establishment, and as you have the most layers of clothes on, I figured you’d be the best person to ask.”

The woman snarled at him. “And why, mon chere, should I help you?”

He deflated and looked down at the squirming bundle in his arms, “Because I can pay, and because there’s a good chance that I might die if you don’t.”

She frowned at him. “People die every day, why should I care if that happens to you? We are not friends, and in fact, I might call you quite rude in the way that you’ve approached me.”

“Would you really leave a baby all alone in the world?”

Already he could feel the sweat beading on his hairline and down the back of his neck. He had thought that he had more time than this, that it would be a slightly slower descent into blurry vision, rapid breathing and fiery skin.

“How do you propose to pay for the services of the doctor?”

The whore looked interested, her eyes sparkling in curiosity. He slumped forward and smiled wryly.

“I was brought here by _The Walrus_ , in my time aboard, I managed to acquire a piece of loot that you might be able to sell to one of her rival crews,” he thought to the parcel he had taken from the cook. “It promises a great return, and you could sell it for far more than my medical care could possibly cost.”

“If you have stolen from Captain Flint, you must know that he will come after you, and that anything you could think of selling to me would bring great danger upon not only me, but on my co-workers here too.” She stood, looking fully intent on leaving, when he put his hand around her wrist.

“Please.” He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, waiting for the answer.

“I know a desperate man when I see him.” She stood, taking his arm, and helping him to stand. “My room is upstairs, I’ll send one of my unoccupied friends to fetch the doctor.” She pushed him up the stairs, and scurried off, apparently in search for the friend.

He began to ascend the stairs, taking a deep breath after each movement. Before he was even three quarters of the way up, he needed to stop and lean against the wall and close his eyes for a moment of recuperation. He looked over his shoulder when the woman placed a hand on his back, pushing him forward, inhaling audibly before he continued walking.

“I wonder, mon chere, if the illness is connected to the baby.” She turned to the him as they finally reached her room and pushed him forward towards a chair.

He slumped onto the chair, adjusting the baby in his grasp, “What do you mean?”

“That baby is a newborn and you wince every time you move your legs. I do not think that the two are completely unrelated.” The whore crossed her arms and looked entirely unimpressed.

He shook his head, trying to stand up but failing when his legs gave out from under him. “This was a mistake.”

She shook her head, reaching out to push him back into the chair before he could get close to the door. “No, I’m not judging you. Please, think of the baby if nothing else. Let Max take care of you.”

John nodded, breathing heavily as he leaned back against the wicker chair, pulling the baby as close to his body as he could. He could feel that the stairs had taken all of the energy from him, his breathing becoming more laboured as the two waited in relative silence for the doctor to arrive.

Before he did, Max took his hand, smiling at him gently, “In my experience, Nassau is a much more accepting place than the old world, the population is not so puritanical to tell a single mother of a bastard child-”

“I’m not anybody’s mother.” He gritted his teeth and moved to stand despite feeling like shit.

Max shrugged, “Or someone who wishes to be truer to themselves than society is comfortable with. There are bad people here, but they tend to target people with far more personal wealth than you or I, and with altogether more reasonable motives.”

She stood, opening the door for her friend and the doctor, watching Silver as he allowed the admittedly morally dubious medical professional to take the soundly sleeping infant from his arms.

The man might have been a professional, however, it seemed that he was severely lacking in tenderness. This was no more evident than when he roughly removed the potato sack wrapping from around the tiny baby, ignoring the infant’s squalling cries. Max walked over to Silver, putting her hand on his shoulder when he made an abortive first move to try to take his daughter back.

“His methods may be unorthodox, but trust me mon chere, he knows what he’s doing. Your daughter will not be harmed.” She waited for him to settle down into the chair before taking a seat next to him. She would not begrudge him his concern, so long as he didn’t do any lasting damage to her room. “It has occurred to me that we have not been introduced. My name is Max.”

John turned to her, smiling tiredly, “My name is John Silver. The baby doesn’t have a name yet.”

“Better to be sure before you saddle her with something she won’t be able to live up to.” Max smiled at him. “We will talk of payment after he leaves.”

John nodded, his eyes closing tiredly, “I wasn’t sure, before she started kicking, and by then, I was already in the port.” He winced again, leaning forward and putting his hands on his stomach. “Fuck, this can’t be a natural thing.”

Max turned to the doctor, who seemed to have finished his cursory examination of the baby. She reached out for the infant, smiling down at her as the doctor turned to face John. He knew better than to think that she could be trusted with his daughter anywhere out of the brothel, but for now, he would allow himself to relax enough to be examined.

Max wrapped her in a thin cloth before turning to him. “If you do not mind, I will take her out of the room, so you might have some privacy, and she some air, non?”

The baby gurgled, so John nodded.

He closed his eyes as he felt the doctor’s hands upon his skin and forced his mind away from the memories which were threatening to overwhelm him.

He would not think about the times that he had been in similar circumstances to the women who were aiding him.

He would not think about the times that led to him being in the state that he was in now.

He would not think about the times which would lay ahead for his daughter if he should be so unfortunate as to be deemed untreatable.

Instead he tried to think about who aboard the _Walrus_ was the one fated to be with him. He’d covertly checked his wrist during some of the quiet moments aboard the ship, but to his disappointment the compass didn’t point to Muldoon, and nor did it point to Billy.

To his eternal relief, it didn’t point to Randall either.

He hoped that it pointed to someone who was kind, who would be able to take care of the baby without spiting her for not being their own child. Even if she wasn’t properly loved, even if she was only taken care of out of a sense of obligation, he could settle for that.

But maybe, just maybe, they would love her, as he loved her despite the fact that she’d only been alive for about twenty-four hours. There was a small part of him, a part that had consistently been let down by the world at large, which hoped that even if he never met his soulmate his daughter might still be loved and taken care of like a princess.

The sound of heavy boots coming up the stairs brought him out of his mind. Max entered the room just as the doctor finished with his examination. Silver pulled his pants back up and stared at her in complete horror.

“I do not know what you have done to Captain Flint, but I need you to go now, before there’s bloodshed in my brothel.”

The Doctor chose this moment to speak up. “He has an infection, he needs bedrest.”

John shook his head, trying to sit up, his eyes narrowed in confusion, “How? He hasn’t even met me. Maybe I can talk to him and explain.”

His words were undercut by the frantic banging on Max’s door. He stumbled into a vaguely upright position and motioned for her to hand him the baby. He replaced the discarded potato sack with his own blue jacket, the leather-bound page hidden in it now pressed close to her tiny heart. Max led him to the window, gesturing for him to climb out of it onto the balcony before she turned to him.

“If I can calm him, I will call you back in.” She pushed John behind the sill, waiting before he was fully hidden before she turned back to open the door.

He could not hear well from his position by the window, but most of the conversation still made its way to his ears.

“May I ask why you three gentlemen are trying so hard to do lasting damage to my door?” Max spoke softly but firmly, and John could imagine her trying to shepherd the men out of her room.

“Where the fuck is he?”

That was an unfamiliar voice to John’s ears. Forceful, strong, dangerous. Must be the captain.

“You must understand that in my business, discretion is of tantamount importance,” she paused. “Maybe if you were more specific.”

“Do not lie to me, I saw you with his baby!” There was the sound of furniture being moved around, and John could hear the Captain getting closer. “He can’t have gone far, find him.”

“If you are worried because he was purportedly seen near a brothel, I would wait to hear his side of the story.”

John could have cried at her attempt to dissuade Captain Flint. He looked down at his wrist, and for a second, his whole word froze as he saw that the needle was pointing back into the room.

Given that there was only one person in there who had been on the ship, it was quite easy for him to figure out exactly who it was pointing to.

All of his hopes and dreams for the baby came crashing down around him. He hadn’t been at sea for very long, but there’d been enough time for him to hear about the horror stories associated with the man.

They said that the man was the devil in human form, a storm badly stuffed into human skin. They said that he had a witch who conjured storms to drag his enemies down to the depths, and a demon to drag his victims’ souls to hell. The said that he feasted on the flesh of newborn infants to power the rage in his heart.

He had hoped, by claiming an ability to cook, he might have been able to avoid the man until he could find a ship to take him to Port Royal, and from there somewhere safe, like Madagascar.

Now it seemed like he would have no such luck, that the demon would use their tie to pursue him to the ends of the earth. He clutched the baby closer to his chest and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he prayed for Max to be able to deescalate the situation.

“I do not care for the story provided to me by a liar and a thief!” John heard the Doctor drop his bag, and imagined that for a moment, the captain was entirely flummoxed “What the fuck is going on?”

Max wandered over to the window, and made eye contact with Silver, who was frozen in fear. She leaned forward, breathing out deeply. “Go to the wrecks mon chere. You might survive there for a time, enough for him to give up on chasing you.”

“No.” It was such a pathetic whimper that Max seemed to take a moment to realise that it was actually a word and not a sob. She smiled at him and nodded.

“You must. He will kill you if he finds you here right now, you must give him time to calm himself.”

That at least rang true, John began to move. He walked across the bridge that led to the tavern, stumbled downstairs and started to walk towards the beach. He’d seen the wrecks from where they’d let him off in the port, and was quite sure that he could find a way to the fires there.

He held the baby as close to his chest as he could as he kept to the shadows.

She was starting to grumble in hunger, her little arms starting to make their way out of his inexpertly wrapped jacket, reaching for him to feed her.

They stumbled along a little longer, until he found himself hidden amongst the wooden shards of once great ships; pirate and navy alike. He settled himself on the moonlit side of an old crow’s nest and smiled down at her as he brushed his fingers along the leather of the parcel.

“I’m sorry that you’ve had such a shit go of life so far. I promise that once we figure out how to sell this to someone, we’re going to find a home, just for the two of us. There are people just like us in Jamaica. I’m not sure how they’ll react to me, but they’ll probably love you.”

The baby completely ignored his small speech, instead using what little strength that she had in her arms to strike him on the chest.

“Yes, yes, I understand.”

He closed his eyes as she set about feeding, and imagined the blue sky that they’d find above Port Royal. He’d have to find a name for before then, his little darling who was currently putting him through a not-insignificant amount of discomfort.

“Even if we don’t get there together, I’ll see to your wellbeing. They can make sure that you’re treated like the little princess that you are on the journey over there.”

John sighed as the baby finished feeding and closed his shirt, wincing in discomfort at the feel of the rough fabric on his skin. He laid her down on the ground, rearranging his jacket around her tiny wriggling form until she was snuggly and warmly wrapped in it.

He held her prone in his arms and began to rock her in his arms. She was far too young to be able to smile, but she gurgled contently in his arms as he moved her slowly through space.

“That’s who you are, isn’t that right? You’re my little princess, heiress to an imaginary kingdom, a future wise queen who’ll rule the entire world.”

She gurgled in response to the declaration. He lifted her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Te yamas Sarah, oh my beautiful baby girl, my beautiful little princess.”

He laid down against the crows-nest, and smiled at her even as he felt like he was being set on fire.

“I promise you, my darling, there will be someone who will take care of you when I’m gone.”

Sarah fell asleep, her little body relaxing as she took uncertain but regular breaths. John kept his hands still, making sure that she was secure in his arms as his vision blurred and his tongue grew heavy in his mouth.

Just as he felt himself falling into a hazy dream-like state, a figure approached.

John tried to hide himself in the shadows, but by now, movement was all but impossible. He did manage to hold Sarah closer to his torso as the figure focussed into a pirate with fiery red hair, a face obscured by a hat, and both hands on the hilts of two knives.

The figure crouched in front of him, a snarl coming to her face as she took in his general figure. Even blurry, she did not seem to be the sort that John would want to fuck with.

“The Doctor said you’d be weak as shit,” she pushed her hat back slightly and looked him straight in the eyes. “Didn’t say that it was as bad as all this though.”

John coughed. He winced and tried to pull his legs up to his chest and shield the baby from her.

“What else did the Doctor say?” He coughed again, waking up Sarah.

His baby daughter wriggled and started to grumble in his arms. Ignoring the pirate for the moment, he adjusted her as best he could when his arms felt like they were weighed down by lead, and pressed another kiss to her head.

“I’m so sorry Sarah, I’m so sorry.”

“Ah shit.”

He turned his gaze back to the pirate. She frowned before she stood up and held out a hand to make him sit still.

“If anyone fucking asks, you and I never fucking met, yeah?”

John nodded and slumped against the crow’s nest.

He closed his eyes again, this time certain that he’d either wake up free of his fever or not at all. He let his thumb stroke over Sarah’s tiny back, his whole hand large enough to span from the left edge of her ribs to the right.

“I’m so sorry Sarah, you were meant to have a better life than this.”

He opened his eyes to see Billy straight ahead of him. The tall bosun hadn’t yet caught sight of him, but it would only be a matter of time. John leaned forward and kissed the top of Sarah’s head again.

“Billy’s a good man, Sarah. I don’t think he’ll even mind if you throw up on him,” he murmured against the soft skin of the top of her head and brought one hand up to stroke through the tiny dark brown strands that were mere wisps against her pink skin. “Something bad is going to happen to me very soon, I would have tried to put it off but I can’t walk right now.”

Billy turned and sighted him.

John closed his eyes.

“I love you so much Sarah. I love you so much.”

He waited for the inevitable onslaught from Billy, for the killing blow whether it came from a pistol or a sword. He even lowered Sarah so that she was out of the way, but the blow never came.

John used most of what remained of his energy to open his eyes again, and what he saw was absolutely terrifying.

Flint was standing not 50 feet away from him, holding himself in much the same manner as John imagined a wolf might. No sooner than John spotted Flint did he start walking over, his sword drawn, held in his right hand while he pulled a pistol out of his brace in the left.

Flint fixed him with a stare, a wicked grin coming to his lips as he strode forward.

“Thank you, Mr. Bones, I’ll take it from here.”

John swallowed thickly and brought Sarah back up close to his chest. He had no illusions about Flint sparing his life, but with Billy here, and the crew being vaguely mutinous if Singleton was to be believed, Sarah might be spared. He looked Flint in the eyes and forced a tired smile to his face.

It was no surprise when Flint brought his sword to gently brush against the skin of John’s chin.

“Hello John.”

“Hello Flint,” John licked at his lips, only now realising how dry his mouth was and that he was definitely about to die. “I decided on a name for her. She may never remember me saying it to her, but please, whatever you do to me, whatever you say about me, please don’t take this from her.”

Flint’s sword moved to dig into the skin of Silver’s neck even further. The Captain frowned.

“This is not doing anything to endear you to me, if that was what you were aiming for.”

“Well I didn’t know that I’d have to do that, so forgive me if I’m not living up to the task,” John smiled at his daughter sadly, “Her name is Sarah, if you were wondering.” He coughed weakly, shaking his head despite Flint’s sword being close enough to his throat to press against it with his every exhale. “I heard you, at the brothel, at the inn, whatever you want to call it. Do you really think so little of me that you would kill me in cold blood?”

“Cold blood implies I have no motive, or reason to want to see you dead, and I have both.”

“Don’t you know that greed is the root of all downfalls?”

“There was a page in the Captain’s log of Parrish’s ship, one which could lead me to great wealth. Don’t pretend you didn’t have it.”

Silver’s head fell against the rotting Crow’s Nest, a weak smile coming to his face.

“Oh that,” John closed his eyes and adjusted Sarah to rest against his chest more comfortably, “I didn’t do that to spite you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He sniffled.

“Then why?”

“I needed a doctor, and it seemed the easiest way to get money to pay for one. And then I thought that I might go to Jamaica with Sarah,” Silver laughed humourlessly, “I didn’t trust your man Singleton to allow me the money I’d need to see a doctor on land, let alone to leave the island.”

Flint sat next to him, the small smile on his face surprising John. Flint was not known for being gentle to those who had crossed him. There had definitely been more stabbing in the stories he’s heard.

“He is a mean bugger, I’ll give you that.” Flint sighed, “What did you do with the page?”

John actually smiled, and almost replied, but suddenly he found that he could not breathe. He lifted one of his hands to his throat and fell forward as he began to wheeze. It felt as though the entire ocean had been moved from where it had comfortably resided off of the Island and into his throat.

His wheezing continued as he felt Flint take Sarah from him and hook an arm around his upper body.

“Billy, find Gates, I need you to get a horse and cart, as soon as you possibly can.”

John listened as he heard Billy hasten off to do Flint’s bidding. Despite the black spots that were appearing in his vision, and the whimpering that he could hear coming from Sarah where she was insecurely held in Flint’s arms, there was a part of him that felt at peace as he fell completely unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing your comments :) Please let me know if there are any typos, I've gone over this a few times, but I don't have a beta, so some mistakes might have slipped through.
> 
> I'd love to hear your guesses about which language Silver is speaking too.


	4. The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A General warning, there is a vague description of a medical procedure in this chapter. If you aren't a fan of descriptions of medical procedures, especially in a post-partum setting, it might be better to finish up after James returns to Miranda returns home after seeking a midwife.
> 
> (Also I borrowed a character from Penny Dreadful, it seemed like a good place to fit her in.)

Miranda’s day had started well.

The gossiping hens which comprised the small puritan colony in the Interior brought news of the arrival of Captain Flint faster than any courier could have hoped to. She’d barely been awake for an hour before the Reverend had come to her front door, making a plea for her and the other members of her household to consider taking shelter inside the walls of one of the many plantations, where they could escape his regular visits.

He had ranted and raved about how Flint was a child of the Devil, second only to Teach in his bloodthirstiness and ungodliness. He had demanded an answer as to how she could possibly allow her family, the three of them perfectly good people, to suffer under the fearsome man’s wrath.

_Hadn’t she heard that he knew no shame? That he not only had a male lover somewhere on New Providence Island, but that he made no secret of it? That he frequently took fine silks and dresses from his many prizes to gift to whores and adulteresses alike?_

She had scoffed, as she always did, rebuffing the advances of the pitiful man, returning to the comfort of her armchair shortly after he left, deciding that she could leave her gardening for now if she was to be visited by James soon in the future.

She was glad that he had no shame, shared a bed - though not the physical pleasures associated with it – with the very same male lover, and was ecstatic that he brought home fabric for her and Abigail so that they might look appropriately gaudy when he took them into Nassau town if he wished for his family’s presence.

But he did not return, and by the time the shadows were painted long against her walls, she was beginning to grow worried. It was only the presence of Thomas and Abigail which stopped her from taking the horse and cart and riding to the Port to see what could possibly be happening.

Thomas was best not left alone on days like this; when he woke in pain from some invisible scars, and Abigail was too young to take care of him herself. As wonderful as their adopted daughter was, she still had much to learn in the way of running their household. So, instead of raiding Nassau Town in a fashion which would have left even Edward Teach in awe of her destruction, she spent the evening with Abigail in their modest parlour, occasionally returning to the bedroom to see if Thomas required anything of her.

By the time that nightfall had come, they’d all eaten dinner, Thomas having a good enough day to eat with them at the modest wooden table in their parlour, though not quite up to having a conversation. Miranda smiled at him all the same. He’d made great strides since he’d first been rescued by James, and every single one of them was a god given gift as far as Miranda was concerned.

It wasn’t until midnight, when she and Thomas were lying in her bed, both of them feeling a bit lonely without James between them, that she heard the sound of a horse and cart making its way towards her home. The groaning of poorly maintained wheels was enough to alert her to it, and the soft swearing of a very familiar voice left her with no doubt as to who was returning to their home.

It was not like James to bring anything requiring a horse and cart to her home. With the rare exception, the gifts he brought her family were small, and mostly books.

Never one to let her curiosity be left unsated, she began to move from bed, kissing Thomas on the shoulder when he began to stir.

“Go back to sleep, James is home.”

This had the opposite effect that she had intended, a light coming to Thomas’ eyes, the man lifting himself with a verve she rarely saw from him.

She could not bring herself to do anything but smile as he followed her out to the veranda, both of them seeming shocked when they saw James, his quartermaster, and a particularly impressive crewman pull a young man off of the back of the cart. Miranda stepped forward, intending to find out what was happening, only to have a squirming bundle which turned out to be a baby shoved into her arms.

“James, what is going on?” She followed him into the house, mildly impressed by the lack of effort he showed as he singlehandedly carried the man into the house and into the kitchen, depositing him on the spare bed there, “James?” She took Thomas’ hand, both of them standing confusedly at the doorway of their room, completely ignoring the other two pirates behind them.

James looked up, looking past both of them to address Gates. “Mr. Gates, take Billy back to the town with you. I’ll not be joining you until at least tomorrow afternoon.”

“Would you like us to bring a doctor, Captain?” The young man spoke. It was a gentle voice for such an impressive frame, she thought.

“No. I’ll fetch one from the interior. I trust you to both understand that what happened tonight is to be kept in the strictest confidence.”

And with that, the pirates left, leaving a very confused Miranda in their wake.

“James?”

Finally, James looked up at her, and at the small bundle in her arms. He shook his head as though he were waking from a long sleep, straightening his back and walking over to her. He took the baby from her, finally seeming to recognise her presence.

“It’s complicated,” he frowned down at the baby, looking up to Miranda after a few seconds, “Miranda, I can’t,” he shook his head, “this is a fucking mess.”

Miranda breathed deeply through her nose. This was not going to resolve itself quickly. She shrugged, taking the baby back.

“Stay with him, try to lay him on his side, in case he vomits.”

James nodded, moving over to the bed and moving the shivering sailor onto his side, Miranda noticing the way in which he gently stroked the hair back from his sweaty forehead. She resisted the urge to interrogate, to demand once again that he provide her with some sort of explanation. Instead she nudged Thomas forward, waiting until he sat at the foot of the bed before she turned and walked towards Abigail’s room.

Her adopted daughter was wide awake when she opened the door, having already pulled her hair away from her face with a ribbon and donned her dressing gown.

“Mother? Is something wrong? Is Father-?”

“We have an unexpected visitor, but not an entirely unpleasant one,” she looked around the room, smiling when her eyes alighted upon one of Abigail’s childhood blankets, “Hand me that blanket?”

Abigail nodded, reaching for it, helping her mother hold the baby as they worked to remove the jacket which, barring the cloth nappy which had been fitted around her, was the only thing currently protecting her from the cold, replacing it with the far softer and more insulating blanket. Miranda let herself smile at Abigail when they had finished.

“You should go back to bed, get some sleep before tomorrow. I suppose we’ll have to make an appearance at the church, circumstances be damned.”

“I would like to see Father, before I go back to sleep.”

Miranda was terrible at saying no to Abigail’s puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, but only for a few minutes, I can’t have the Puritan mothers accusing me of keeping you up too late _and_ witchcraft.” She turned, now holding the baby to her chest with one arm and the now discarded jacket with her free hand.

The pair walked through the front room back to the kitchen, Miranda coughing gently as they entered to attract the gazes of Thomas and James. The sailor seemed a little too occupied in his struggle for breath to be able to pay her much attention at all.

“Abigail wanted to say hello.” She made a meaningful glance at James, walking forward to take his place on the bed, shuffling a bit to sit share Thomas’ warmth.

“Father?” Abigail walked forward uncertainly, “is everything alright?”

James Flint might have been a cruel and relentless pirate, James Barlow a strange creature who made most of their puritan neighbours wary, but James McGraw? Miranda knew him to be a good man, one who cared for the welfare of their household above all things.

James turned, and smiled weakly at Abigail. “Hello my Jewel. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Is everything alright?”

James shook his head, opening his arms and pulling Abigail into a hug. “Not right now, Mr Silver here is very ill. But I’m going to fetch a doctor, and soon this will all be fine.”

Miranda stood, depositing the baby into Thomas’ arms and walking over to James. “No you’re not. He won’t open his door to you in the middle of the night.” She walked over to her wardrobe, pulling out one of her housecoats and wrapping it around her nightgown and walking over to James. “I’ll go. You can stay with him and the baby.”

James eyes widened in a way which had always amused Miranda to no end. “What am I meant to do with a baby?” he looked over to Thomas.

“Well, you’ve borne as many as I have, so you’ll be just as apt at it as I am.” She walked out of the room, only a little surprised when she found James’ hand wrapping around her wrist. “James-”

“There is something about Mr Silver that you need to know. About his illness, in particular.”

“What?” Miranda sighed heavily as James paused, “James, I’m a woman of the world, if you are embarrassed-”

“Mr Silver bore the child that Thomas is currently holding.”

“Oh. How…?”

James sighed, stepping out of the house and closing the door behind him. “I don’t know the exact details, but his stomach has stretched in the way typical of someone who’s given birth.”

“So he’s a woman in disguise?”

James shook his head, “I don’t think so, it would have been safer for him to reveal himself as one if he felt that way, besides, aside from the babe in his arms, he has taken many precautions against being seen as a woman. It doesn’t matter right now, but we can ask later.”

“And why would he been even remotely inclined to reveal such personal information to you?”

James sighed again, pulling the sleeve of his right arm to reveal the compass that had for the past twenty-eight years always pointed to somewhere on the western side of the British Isles, finally pointing in the direction of the sailor.

“I’ll have to lie to the doctor, of course.”

“Still, get a midwife anyway, I don’t want to waste time.”

Miranda nodded, giving James a gentle kiss before she finally went out the front door. “Take care of them all while I’m gone.”

* * *

Miranda was well aware that generally speaking, the inhabitants of the puritan colony in the interior believed her to be a witch. They were, as was to be expected of a large group of sexually repressed hypocrites, fond of making outcasts of those who were different.

She had not been the first, and nor did she suspect that she would be the last.

Living on the edge of the colony, near the empty trunk of a long dead tree, there was a small cottage, known to be the residence of New Providence Island’s very own cut-wife.

While it might have been first suspected that she would have made a successful business closer to the brothel, and it was true that from time to time they did avail themselves of her, it was simply a fact of life that she felt the many abused slaves of the plantations deserved her sympathy - and the benefits of her trade - more. There was many a man on this island who claimed to be virtuous and pure, but whose actions, especially towards his slaves, proved otherwise.

She survived the scorn of the colonists because they could not live without her. For every person who wished her ill, there was another that was indebted to her, and would gently dissuade them from their talk of hanging and burning at the stake.

She was the perfect woman for Miranda to engage with for this particular emergency.

She brought her own horse and cart to rest by the dead tree, jumping off of the seat and striding towards the door of the ramshackle old cottage. She wondered if the eerie surroundings might have also been a factor in the woman’s long residency in Nassau, the cut-wife having been there longer than even the Guthrie’s cared to remember. Miranda had to resist the urge to jump at every shadow as she made the short trek past a fire-pit and up the lone step before the door.

“Hello?” she knocked on the door, “Hello, is anyone there?”

She stepped back as the door creaked open, frozen by the haggard appearance of the cut-wife.

“Why do you bother me at this hour?”

Miranda stepped forward holding her arms out pleadingly. “I assure you, it is a matter of life and death.”

For a few seconds, all was still between the two of them. Miranda was deafened by her own heartbeat, barely feeling the cold night air on her skin.

“You are the Barlow woman.”

“Yes.”

“They call you a witch, those that come from the colony for my services.”

Miranda sighed, holding her hands up placatingly, “There is no time for this, there is a life in danger of being lost if we do not act quickly.”

“You look healthy enough to me.”

“Not me. There is a… a man, in my house, who has given birth, and appears to be suffering the consequences of it.”

Miranda watched in horror as the cut-wife shrugged, turning back into her house. “That is always a risk when giving birth.” The woman pulled a few herbs from where they were hanging on a wooden beam. “Why should I care?”

“We can pay you.” Miranda looked back at the horse, wondering if it was too late to try to go into town and try to convince the doctor to come to her residence.

She brought her gaze back to the cut-wife, jumping in shock when the woman was only three feet from her, having made no sound when she had moved. She held a black bag at her side, and had a black scarf wrapped around her head.

“I’ll make a decision when I’ve seen him.”

The woman walked forward with a spryness that gave Miranda pause. Even Miranda occasionally needed help in mounting the cart, but this woman approached it as though it were no more than the front step to a house.

She walked forward, pulling herself onto the cart and taking the horse’s reigns.

“What should I call you?” she chanced a look over at the woman, taking in her sharp features, the craggy lines of her forehead. “While I engage your services?”

Silence.

“You might call me cut-wife, it is my title among the puritans, is it not?”

“I am no Puritan.” It was true, despite her current residence, Miranda Barlow was and always had been a completely unrepentant Catholic. Something about the pantheon of saints had always reminded her of the Greek myths. It had been an observation which had made Thomas laugh for a solid minute when he’d questioned her staunch beliefs and refusal to convert to Anglicanism, even as she flaunted the various decrees of the Holy See by taking lover after lover after lover.

The Cut-wife shrugged, as seemed to be her want.

“Call me Joan then, if you have need to call me anything.”

The rest of the ride back to the house was spent in companionable silence.

Miranda followed Joan into the house, the two of them quickly walking towards her bedroom.

It seemed that James had decided to make himself useful in the time that Miranda had been away from home. He was dabbing at John’s head with a damp cloth, humming an old song under his breath as he regularly checked the younger man’s pulse and breathing. Thomas had relocated, sitting on the kitchen rocking-chair, still holding the baby close to his chest.

Abigail was absent, and Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. If these did turn out to be the last hours of Mr. Silver’s life, there was no need for such a young girl to see it.

“That is my patient then?” Joan walked forward, pushing James out of the way none too gently, stripping the covers off of John’s body, seemingly not caring how his shivering intensified as she did so. “One of you boil some water.”

A glance from Miranda sent James scampering over to the hearth. He had always been a better cook than she, and Miranda feared that he’d do more harm than good if he were allowed to stay.

Joan began the process of pulling John’s trousers down, clucking her tongue when she saw how tightly they had been cinched about his waist. “Silly fool.” She turned to look at Thomas, eyeing the baby with a calculating expression on her face. “How long since he gave birth?”

Miranda shrugged, trying to calculate when James would have begun the return journey if he’d arrived the previous morning. “Maybe yesterday, or the day before?” He hadn’t been hunting too far from Nassau, hoping to catch the merchant vessel when they would be too tired to fight back.

Joan grunted ominously, pulling John’s trousers off completely, and examining the area between his legs.

Even unconscious, Miranda would not care to have an audience watch the most delicate part of her body as it was examined, so she turned her head, walking over to Thomas, kneeling beside him and smiling softly at the baby.

“Poor thing, to be at the centre of so much trouble.”

Thomas smiled softly at her, pressing his lips against her temple.

“The cause of so much trouble, more like.” Joan’s voice demanded an audience, to Miranda turned her hand to look at her. “He has an infection, and he needs stitches all because of that baby.”

Miranda winced.

“But he’ll survive, won’t he?”

Joan shrugged. “He’s young, he may still pull through,” she shook her head, frowning at Miranda, “he didn’t take care of himself before hand, an’ it’s a miracle that baby is as healthy as it is.” She spent a few more seconds examining before she pulled up, laying the blanket over John’s shivering form.

James turned to Joan with a mildly manic look in his eyes.

“The water is boiling.”

Joan clicked her tongue, waling over to her bag, producing a bunch of herbs in one hand, and some peculiar drawers in the other. “Boil the herbs until they make a paste and put it onto these.” She strode over to James, handing both to him, sighing when he looked like he was hesitating, “Quickly unless you want him to die.”

James turned back to the hearth, humming a shanty under his breath loud enough for Miranda to be able to make out the tune.

Joan turned her fierce gaze on Miranda. “He’ll likely wake for this part, and I can’t have him interrupting my work. Hold his hands.”

Miranda nodded, climbing onto the bed, clasping both of John’s hands with her own. She had a fair idea of what was going to happen, and silently thanked God that he’d never seen to curse her with this particular part of life.

Joan was right in her assessment of John’s imminent consciousness. The moment she had threaded her needle and set to her task his eyes opened. Miranda winced as he tried to wrench his hands from hers, closing her eyes and holding tight to his hands.

“You’ll be fine, John,” she sighed as she felt him struggle again, looking down at his bright blue eyes, and trying to inject as much sympathy into her expression as possible. “This is to help you, to save your life, please don’t struggle.”

He didn’t seem completely lucid, his eyes flickering all over the room while Joan operated. After a few seconds, his eyes settled on Miranda again, and he began to shake even further. It took only a few seconds for the tears to begin, accompanied by pathetic sobs.

“It’s alright, you only have…” Miranda turned to look at Joan, hoping that her questioning expression would convey her question well enough.

“Three stitches.”

“Three stitches left John. You’re doing so well.”

It only took another half minute for Joan to finish, the cut-wife looking at her hands in mild disgust as she pulled away from him.

The fearsome woman walked over to the hearth, holding out a hand in readiness to take something. James handed the drawers to her, watching her with weary eyes as she inspected them closely before she began to pull them onto John.

“Bring the water into here. I need to wash.”

Miranda watched in amazement as the usually stubborn pirate did exactly as he was asked. It seemed that he hadn’t entirely managed to rid himself of his Navy instincts.

John finally seemed to calm down, his eyes closing as he allowed Miranda to help him to roll onto his side.

“Where’s Sarah?”

It was spoken so softly that Miranda barely heard him, having to lean in again to make sure he’d actually spoken.

“What was that?”

The sailor opened his eyes again, fixing Miranda with a sleepy glare. “Where’s Sarah?”

Miranda smiled, taking the baby, Sarah apparently, from Thomas’ arms, and bringing her down so that he could gaze upon her face.

“She’s in a better state than you are, so don’t you worry.” Joan piped up from the front door, taking the pot from James when he removed it from the hearth, not seeming to mind how hot it was when she plunged her arms into it. Once again, she turned to Miranda, pulling her bag towards her and pulling a large bunch of herbs from it. “These need to be replaced every twelve hours, or the infection will come back stronger than it was before, an’ I won’t be able to treat it. I’ll return in three days to take the stitches out. Unless it’s to relieve himself, he’s not to move from the bed.”

With that Joan left, already gone from view when Miranda thought to ask if she needed the use of their horse and cart to return to her home. Miranda shrugged and returned with Thomas to her own bedroom.

It was only a few more minutes before her other husband followed them, situating himself between Miranda and the now sleeping Thomas. He turned to his wife, smiling at her wearily.

“I’ve heated up some milk from the cow, for if she wakes up in the night. It’s on the coals.”

Miranda nodded, smiling at him.

“Thank you, James.” She looked to the opposite side of the bed, smiling when she saw that both Thomas and John appeared to have fallen into peaceful slumbers.

“I’m sorry for bringing such trouble to your house.”

Miranda shook her head, lifting herself off of the bed to put out all the candles save the one next to the bed, groaning as she fell back onto the bed, all of the weight of her day seeming to be concentrated in her lower back. “It’s our house, and our trouble, if this is what fate has decided upon. There is no better place for the trouble to be.” She sat up blowing the candle out, returning to James’ arms with a contented sigh. “It’s Sunday tomorrow. I fear that Abigail and I will be obligated to make an appearance at the service.”

“I’ll stay with them. Hal knows where to look if he has need of me, and I trust him to deal with Eleanor.”

“We missed you.” Miranda sighed, putting one hand on James’ chest.

James smiled into her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead in the darkness. Their relationship might not have been particularly physical of late, but there were still these simple comforts available to them. “I missed you all too. I do have some presents for you, waiting in Nassau port.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I like to.”

Miranda smiled, feeling her eyes growing heavy as she succumbed to sleep.

“I love you James.”

She wasn’t awake for James’ response, but she was fairly sure she knew what his reply was.

All was well that night in the Barlow household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear all of your thoughts on the change of perspective. I figured it was fitting for a sequel to A Rescue (from three perspectives), though I must say, I prefer writing from John and James' perspectives right now.


	5. You Have Witchcraft in Your Lips

The baby woke five times in the night, James fetching her milk three times and changing her twice. The sixth time that she woke, the sun was just cresting the sky, and Miranda, now awake, took her, saying that the babe would need a good bath to prepare her for the rest of the day.

The normally fearsome Captain Flint was absent from their home today, James McGraw awake after many days asleep at sea. He watched, dressed only in his smallclothes as he leant against the kitchen doorframe, smiling at the baby, who was sitting in a wooden bucket while Miranda used soapy water from another to gently scrub off the muck that she had no doubt gotten on her at the wrecks.

“Did Mr. Silver tell you her name?” James was startled out of his reverie by Miranda’s soft voice.

“Sarah, it was the last thing that he mentioned before he collapsed.” He walked forward, pulling a clean cloth from one of the cupboards and handing it to Miranda as she pulled the little girl out of the bucket. “It seemed important to him.” He pulled another cloth, securing it around the baby after Miranda had dried her. “We’re going to need more of these. And maybe find a wet-nurse.”

“I’ll enquire at church.” Miranda picked the baby up, cooing at her for a few seconds before handing her to James. “What story should we use?”

James smiled raising one eyebrow as he adjusted the baby in his arms, “We could always say that you had a niece, from London. Attacked by pirates, her husband killed.”

Miranda shook her head, “I don’t think Mr. Silver would appreciate being referred to as being my niece.”

“Attacked by pirates, our nephew’s wife killed, the baby born in her dying moments?”

Miranda shrugged, “I’ll come up with something on the way there.” She looked out the window, sighing as she began to walk towards Abigail’s room. “You don’t mind staying with them while we’re out, do you?”

“I think I’ll manage the baby. I can change the herbs when Thomas wakes.”

Miranda smiled at him, continuing towards Abigail’s bedroom while James walked back towards the bed next to the kitchen. He smiled as the baby gurgled when she saw the still unconscious John laying upon the bed. “That’s your father,” he walked forward, sitting next to John so that Sarah could see the rise of his chest as he breathed, “He loves you very much. But he might have done something wrong to my ship, so we’re going to have to wait for a bit to see how I feel.”

James laid the baby on John’s chest, using his now free hands to take the slightly stirring man’s temperature. It was better than it had been the night before, but still worryingly high. His breathing was still a little bit strained too but was better than the complete obstruction that he had seen the day before.

Deciding that Sarah would be okay with her father for a few moments, James stood and walked towards the master bedroom.

He let his gaze wander over to Thomas. His beautiful Thomas, who seemed to be on the verge of waking up, beginning to stretch his arms as his eyes opened.

“Good morning love,” James leaned over John, kissing Thomas on the forehead.

“I had a bad day yesterday.”

James kissed him again. “They’re getting less and less.”

“It doesn’t always feel like that.”

James shrugged as best he could, leaning back a bit as Thomas sat up to appraise John.

“Is he the third?”

To anyone lesser acquainted with the former Lord Hamilton, the tone would have seemed casual, but James knew better.

“This isn’t going to change anything between us.”

Thomas fixed him with a piercing gaze. “You can take him out into the town.” He averted his gaze looking down at the sleeping man. “He’s pretty too.”

“You’re beautiful,” James smiled, leaning forward “and I take you out to the town whenever there’s an important meeting of the Captain’s Council.”

“Whenever I’m having a good day and there’s an important meeting.” Thomas sighed, getting out of the bed and pulling a blanket around his shoulders. “I think I might start with a bath today.”

“Do you want company?”

Thomas shook his head, looking back at James with a small smile on his face. “He needs someone to stay with him.” He moved to exit.

“Thomas, wait!” James stood from the bed, moved out of the bedroom and walked over to his husband by the door. He placed his hands on either side of Thomas’ head, giving the man a moment to reject him if he so chose before kissing him. It was sweet, the way only kisses with Thomas could be. “I will always love you, with the entirety of my heart.” He sighed, stroking Thomas’ temples with his thumbs, “Never doubt that.”

Thomas closed his eyes and smiled. “I’ll always love you too.”

James kissed him quickly again, turning back to John with a smile. This would be fine, he told himself.

Which, of course, was when the little shit woke up, and before he’d even fully opened his eyes, started causing trouble. In his sleepy state, he tried sitting up, holding onto the baby as he winced through the pain and looked at James.

“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed heavily, looking around with a panicked glint in his eyes.

“A safe place. You nearly died at the wrecks, so I brought you here to recover.”

John nodded. “Is this where you’re going to keep her?” he smiled tearfully, “I wasn’t expecting the farmhouse of a kind puritan family.” He looked down at the baby again, staring at Flint with terrifying intensity when he lifted his gaze once more, “She can’t stay here.”

James walked forward, standing at the foot of the bed and frowning at Silver.

“You aren’t in a position to be making demands.” He ignored John’s rising panic, “If you were any other man I might have let you die among the wrecks.”

“I know, but please, whatever transgression you think I have committed against you, I beg you do not leave her here.”

James knew not how to answer, standing in silence, which John must have taken as some sign of displeasure, the curly haired man pushing the covers and attempting to get out of the bed. James rushed to the side of the bed, grabbing John’s legs and lifting them back onto the bed. “Stop.”

John shook his head, biting his lip in a way that James could already tell meant he was trying to formulate an escape attempt. He pulled Sarah out of John’s arms, holding her close to his chest and fixing the younger man with an impressive glare.

“The cut-wife who saw to you instructed me not to let you leave the bed until she returns the day after tomorrow. I’ll not let you ruin her hard work because of your pigheaded stubbornness.” He walked closer to the bed, warily eyeing Silver. “If I give her back to you, will you promise not to make any more escape attempts?”

John nodded, holding his hands out for Sarah, smiling slightly when James had placed her back in his arms. “Don’t do that again.”

“Now that we’ve reached this understanding, I promise you I won’t.” he walked past the screen, peering into the kitchen where Thomas was carrying a bucket full to the brim with steaming water out onto the front veranda. It seemed that James would be able to have some time to speak with John before they’d have to change the herbs. “I know you are worried about her welfare, as all good parents are, but whatever your worries are, you do not have to fear for her comfort and safety here.”

John shook his head, looking down at Sarah with a smile, “I don’t want her to be raised among these sorts of people. It’s bad enough that-” he shook his head. “If you are angry at me, for what I have done to you, for taking that page from the ship… If that is true, then let me die, but please don’t abandon her here. I beg you.”

James sat down next to him, pulling his legs up under the bedsheets. “I believed that you were hiding it for some nefarious purpose, not for your own medical needs.” He frowned at John, “I’m sorry if I scared you. I give you my word that nothing bad will happen to Sarah here.”

“I still don’t want her to stay here. I don’t care if you think these are good people. I don’t want her to be left here to never know those who loved her, to be resented because of her origins.”

“She won’t be,” James shook his head, “I promise you, she won’t.” He got out of the bed, walking towards the door. “I know at this moment in time you have more than enough reasons to distrust me, but for just this moment I need you to stay here, and believe me when I say that I mean you no harm.”

John nodded, lying back against the bed with his daughter held close to his chest.

James walked out of the room, heading towards Thomas in his bath on the veranda.

“What would the neighbours say, do you think, if they could see you now?” James smiled as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Some people find peace inside the walls of a church, some sunning themselves on their veranda among the beauty of God’s creation. We’re all celebrating some sort of divine force.” Thomas smiled, lifting one finger to beckon James to come towards him. “And I see nothing more beautiful in creation, nothing more divine than you right now darling.”

James let himself be pulled into the tub, watching his smallclothes go translucent as they were drenched by the water. He smiled as he felt Thomas’ hands stroke down his sides, his delicate fingers tapping a gentle tattoo on his skin and they worked their way under his nightshirt.

“I thought that you said you wanted solitude.”

“I’ve had enough solitude for this morning,” Thomas kissed James neck, sucking a bruise into it. “And I’ve scarcely seen you for weeks.”

“I missed you too.”

“You know that you’re so dashing and beautiful when you come home dressed as a pirate. It could lead a man to distraction.” Thomas leant his forehead against James’ shoulder blade, pressing a strong kiss to the outline of the bone before he flipped James around.

And oh, but how beautiful Thomas’ eyes were when he was in a good mood, and there was sun to shine off of them. If James had been the swooning type, he would have fainted right then and there.

James nodded, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re so beautiful too. You know I brought you a gift from one of the ships we raided.” He purred as Thomas ran his hands through his copper hair, pulling on the ends slightly at the end of every brush.

“Really? Let me guess, you’ve found another translation of _The Odyssey_ , and you’re desperate for my opinion on its quality.” Thomas laughed against James’ mouth, kissing him slowly.

“Something better, but for you to get it, we are going to need to get out of the bath and tend to John.” He kissed Thomas once again before using the sides of the tub to leverage himself out of the bath. “Come on love, if we’re efficient we might be able to have another wash before Miranda and Abigail return from church.”

He laughed as Thomas stood from the tub, the bath-robe just this side of being completely translucent. His blonde angel held out a hand, stepping out of the tub delicately and leaning against James side. “I take it that he’s woken from his slumber.”

James turned to him, smiling wickedly, “He believes you to be a puritan, keen on hurting his child and casting him out on the streets as soon as he can walk.”

“I think we can dispel that particular notion from his mind.” Thomas wrapped a towel around him and waited by the door of the bedroom, looking at James in askance. “The sight of me unclothed might be a bit much for him today.”

James nodded and walked forward and into the bedroom. He took a towel, dried himself as quickly as he could, then pulled on his shirt, pants, and most importantly his coat. Maybe if Thomas believed this to be a handsome way of looking, he could persuade John that this was, at the very least, not completely terrifying.

He took the few moments he had to him to address John.

“Thomas wants to talk to you, before you can make a decision about fleeing with Sarah in the middle of the night.” He sighed and smiled tiredly. “I know you have reservations about him and Miranda-”

“They aren’t my people, they aren’t her people.”

James opened his mouth to ask what John meant. But right at that moment, Thomas entered the room.

“I’m glad that you’re awake. The cut-wife wasn’t entirely sure that you’d survive the night.” Thomas walked forward and sat near John on the bed.

“I’m persistent.” John brought the baby impossibly closer to his chest, sitting up and moving away from Thomas.

James winced, coming forward to sit next to Thomas on the bed, laying one hand on Thomas’ shoulder, and one on John’s left leg. “You’ll have to forgive Thomas, he’s very forward.”

“James told me that you’re worried about my family removing your daughter from your custody, to take her and treat her and the memory of you as something that makes her inferior. I promise you that I would never do that.” He leant forward, smiling at Sarah, “I am no hypocritical puritan, nor any sort of puritan for that matter. I won’t take your child from you, nor try to hurt you in any way. You have my word.”

With that he stood, kissing James on the forehead before he headed out of the room towards the kitchen.

James smiled, properly facing John once more. “Do you feel more at ease now you’ve met him properly?”

“Is he your lover?”

James shook his head. “We prefer the term husband. There’s a ceremony, that pirates do, so it’s official as far as Edward Teach is concerned.”

John frowned, laying down once again, “Did you give up on me ever arriving?”

“No.” James climbed onto the bed, rolling up his sleeves as he leant towards John. He tentatively placed one arm around his shoulders, looking down on the baby. “I’m not exactly normal.” He held his wrist out, waiting for John to recognise the three compasses on his freckled skin. “But I think that you can understand that.”

“Oh.”

John shrugged James off of him, looking him in the eye for a few seconds.

“What happens now, then?” he smiled as Sarah opened her eyes, beginning to grumble as she realised that her stomach was empty.

“Tonight, I’ll go into town, and sort out the business of the Spanish Galleon. The day after tomorrow, the cut-wife will come to remove your stitches. From there, I have no idea.”

“Oh.”

James leant down to rest his hand against John’s brow. “We have to change your undergarments, to prevent the infection from getting worse.”

“I would prefer to do that myself,” James could feel John tensing beside him.

“That’s fine,” James nodded, starting to extricate himself from the bed. “As long as you tell us if you need help.” He looked back at John, smiling tightly, “I’ll see if Thomas has boiled the water yet.

He wandered into the kitchen, smiling when he saw Thomas by the fire, transferring water from the pot to two buckets. The blonde was already trying to make a paste from the herbs, taking some of the hot water with a cup and dropping them in. He grimaced at the green residue they left on his hand as he mixed them with his finger. He watched as Thomas transferred the green mess to a bowl, crushing the herbs even more with a mortar and pestle.

James walked forward, taking the bucket of still boiling water and bringing it towards the bedroom. He smiled at John tersely, waiting until he was right by the bed to address him.

“You can put the drawers on yourself, but I’d prefer not to try to wash them on the bed.”

John nodded, frowning when he saw Thomas enter the room with the paste.

“I’d rather not have an audience for this.”

Thomas nodded, placing the paste next to James on the floor, pausing by the door and addressing John directly. “Would you like me to hold her for you while James helps you with this?”

John shook his head.

Thomas smiled, nodding his head and leaving the room.

“He’s not going to hurt her.” James spoke up from the side of the bed, where he was still crouched by the bed, “or take her from you.”

John just shrugged.

James sighed, looking up at his soulmate. “I need the drawers, to rinse them.”

He watched as John gently laid Sarah on the bed beside him. He looked away as the smaller man began to fumble underneath the sheet, eventually providing James with the white cloth.

“He’s a good man,” James smiled, placing the drawers in the bucket, scrubbing them against a wooden board, thankful that he wouldn’t have to try to wash them with lye today. “When I met him, met Miranda, I was unformed, alone and terrified in the world.” He looked up at John, sighing as he brought the drawers out to examine them. Deciding that they were clean enough, her squeezed the water back into the bucket, holding them up in the sunlight to make them dry faster.

“They helped me to understand that who I am, my character, my personality, that they aren’t something that I need have any shame about.”

“I don’t think that I’ve met that side of him yet,” John breathed out, calling James attention to him.

“You will, in time.” James smiled, sitting next to John on the bed and applying the paste to the drawers. “This evening you can do this part, now that you’ve seen me do it, and you can have your privacy.”

John nodded, looking back at Sarah again while James was applying the paste. “Did you feed her last night?”

“We have a cow. She didn’t go hungry.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you feed her before I found you?” James didn’t mean to pry, but he would have been mildly horrified to discover that a baby had been left hungry for over a full day.

John nodded, taking the drawers from James, looking at him pointedly until James averted his gaze. The ginger frowned, taking a deep breath and waiting for John to finish dressing himself before beginning to speak.

“If you wanted us to leave you to feeding her-”

“I don’t think I’m very good at it.”

James turned to look at John, who had picked Sarah up and was rocking her in his arms. Much to James surprise, the man looked close to crying, taking a few very deep breaths as he tried to keep the baby steady in his arms. James leaned towards him, hoping that the younger man would take some comfort in the shared warmth, even on a sunny Caribbean day. After a few more seconds of silence from the man, he took a deep breath himself, lifting his hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“John, are you-”

“It hurts like hell, and she’s still hungry after. If you have a cow and milk to spare, I’d not mind trying that alongside what I can do. Unless you’d like to hire a wet-nurse.”

James smiled, standing from his place on the bed, gently helping John to recline back onto the bed, picking Sarah up so that she could rest in John’s arms.

“I’m going to throw this out,” he picked up the bucket, beginning his trek to the door. “If you want me to read to you, or to bring you a book, I’d be more than happy to. Just call for me, and I’ll come.”

John nodded, James watching the mess of curls move out of the corner of his eye.

“John?” He turned, sighing, “I’m sorry for trying to kill you.”

“You haven’t been the first.”

James smiled, walking out of the bedroom and through the house onto the veranda.

He was met by Thomas, who was now examining John’s blue coat.

“Your Mr. Silver doesn’t appear to like me very much.” Thomas smiled, offering James the garment. “I think it missed the worst of the afterbirth, can it be salvaged?”

“He’ll come ‘round, you forget that I didn’t particularly like you when we first met,” he looked at the slightly sticky fabric. “We might need to boil it first.”

“Yes, but you were a bundle of self-loathing and barely contained rage. You didn’t like anyone.”

James shrugged, going through the pockets of the coat. It was the standard issue blue fabric of most merchant vessels. Much like his navy uniform, he found it to be ridiculously impractical. They were too restrictive in a fight, weren’t even warm enough to be considered a good jacket.

“That’s true, though implying that I was a status seeking upstart certainly didn’t help your case.”

He started to turn out the pockets, frowning as he felt a solid weight in a hidden inside one. He turned the jacket inside out, pulling at the weight with two fingers until it came free of the jacket, thudding to the floor and rolling until it reached Thomas.

The blonde picked the leather scroll up, frowning as he opened it, pulling out a piece of paper and examining it closely.

“You didn’t say that Mr. Silver was Spanish.”

James frowned, “He isn’t, not from his accent, at least.” Suddenly, a weight dropped in his gut, the ginger moving so as to be able to read over Thomas’ shoulder.

There, in the same cursive that had permeated the entire Captain’s Log, was the schedule of the _Urca de Lima_ , every stop, every eventuality planned for.

He took the piece of paper from Thomas, pulling it to his chest and mumbling under his breath.

“Darling,” Thomas took one of his hands, frowning at James as a response evaded him, “James, what’s happened? What is the problem?”

“There is no problem here, just salvation.” Hot tears began to prick at his eyes, all of the tension of the past few days released through the salty pearl shaped drops. He tried to rub them away, only to feel Thomas’ soft hands doing the job for him.

He allowed himself to be helped up by Thomas, slumping against the slightly taller man’s side, making no protest as he was walked back to sit down on one of the chairs.

“I’ll wake you when Miranda and Abigail return,” Thomas kissed him on his cheek. “And we’ll have a wonderful lunch, and then you can go into town in the evening and inform your quartermaster that you’ve found something important.”

“You aren’t joining me?” James cracked open one eye to peer at Thomas.

Thomas shrugged, before kneeling in front of James and taking hold of both of his hands.

“I have things to do. And don’t you dare suggest forgoing sleep in order to aid me in this,” Thomas smiled and kissed James perpetually bruised knuckles. “Let me take care of you Captain Flint.”

“Perhaps you’re mistaking me for some other man, Mr. Barlow, there’s no Captain Flint here,” James grinned sleepily and leant his head back against the peeling exterior of his home.

“Is that so?” Thomas stood and pressed a kiss to James’ forehead. “Well then Mr. Barlow, why don’t you take a nap, and let me make you a delicious lunch. How does that sound?”

James hummed and allowed himself to relax properly for the first time in a week.


	6. Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait between chapters guys. I literally had no to very limited internet for about two months if that makes it better.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Thomas was alerted to the return of his wife and daughter from their weekly trip to church by the raucous laughter which came from the front door as they took in the sight of James asleep in Miranda’s rocking chair. Much as James might have taken affront to being the butt of a joke, Thomas was sure that he wouldn’t have minded it if he saw the happy expressions that Miranda and Abigail wore, any cares that might have burdened them after their weekly visit to the puritan church disappearing as they clutched at each other while James began to stir.

Thomas smiled and turned to them from where he was stirring his soup, walking forward to kiss Miranda on both cheeks as she worked at removing her hat. She was still laughing, so Thomas ended up being the one who undid the ribbon and removed the many pins holding it tight against her skull from her head. He brought her close and kissed her on the shoulder once he had finished the arduous task, and waited for the giggles to subside.

“I know that a baby can be an exhausting prospect,” Miranda finally got out as soon as she could take a breath, “But I can’t say that I was expecting this.”

Thomas shrugged and moved to kiss Abigail on the forehead, noting with concern that her smile seemed forced and that her eyes were tired. He placed his hand against her forehead to check for a fever before he turned to Miranda.

“We’ve had the strangest sort of day today. Quite exhausting. Lunch is ready by the way, it’s quite simple for the sake of Mr. Silver’s stomach.”

Abigail smiled at him, leaning around him until she could peer in at the still sleeping stranger in the kitchen bed. “Has he woken since last night?”

He smiled and nodded, “Briefly, though I wouldn’t try to engage him in conversation just yet.”

“Why?” Abigail turned to face her him, her curiosity plain on her face.

“He seems to believe that we are the type of people to steal his child in the dead of night and then banish him out into the world with nothing but the shirt on his back. If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded to her Miranda, giving Abigail one last smile before he returned to the kitchen pot.

He stayed there for the few minutes that it took his family to prepare themselves for lunch, occasionally glancing at John, noting with concern the way that James’ soulmate seemed to be in pain even in sleep.

Abigail was the first to emerge, wearing a yellow summer dress that Miranda had brought home delightedly the week before. She smiled timidly as she approached the hearth, giving the bed a wide berth even as she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Hand me the bowls?” Thomas smiled at her as she went about the kitchen, doing a task that she had taken to with great relish since she had first been brought to Nassau. He waited for her to speak, only to be disappointed to see that her mouth was pressed closed in a tight line.

“How was church?” Her asked as she brought out the bowls for the stew, including an extra one for John, “Did the pastor completely misunderstand the purpose of Leviticus again?”

Abigail smiled, moving on to cut a loaf of bread into slices. “No, this time he mangled Jesus overturning tables at the Temple.” She dared a look towards her bed, where baby Sarah was gurgling happily, “How is she? The baby I mean.” She brought the bread over to the table and stood by her father, “She seems such a dear little thing, from what I saw of her last night.”

“She’s fine, healthy as far as I can tell,” Thomas shrugged, stirring the stew for a final time, “though her father seems to be very protective of her, so I wouldn’t hold out much hope for holding her any time soon.”

He walked over to a bucket of water, rinsing his hands in it and smiling at her.

“You know, I think, considering our newest addition’s delicate medical state, we might take our luncheon by the bed.”

Abigail nodded, waiting by the pot as Thomas moved one of the many chairs from the kitchen by the bed. She waited for him to return before taking a cloth in hand, both of them lifting the pot off of the fire and placing it on a thick woollen mat on top of the table.

James entered, eliciting Abigail’s first real smile as he, now fully dressed and looking all together less exhausted than he had been only a few hours ago, entered the room properly. Thomas barely resisted the urge to sigh as he saw the way that James regarded the unconscious sailor from the foot of the bed. Surely after nearly ten years together, his husband would have learnt how to process the emotions that came with encountering a person fate had determined to be of the utmost importance to him.

Thomas decided he would talk to James once they had some time together. To confront him now, while he was tired and outnumbered would only bring him distress.

Eventually, after what seemed like much internal hand-wringing, James walked over to the bed, leaning over John to shake him awake gently. Even from where Thomas was standing by the pot on the table, he could see the soft expression on James’ face, and the look of blatant mistrust on John’s. James either didn’t notice or outright ignored the hostility coming off their guest in waves and sat beside him, helping him into a sitting position as Abigail walked forward, a full bowl held in her outstretched hands as she approached John.

Miranda chose that moment to enter their kitchen, a frown on her face as she watched Abigail as a mother cat might watch their blue-eyed progeny take their first steps into the world.

At a confused glare from John, Abigail diverted her course slightly, smiling at her father in the same tight-lipped way she had looked at Thomas.

“Good Morning Father.”

James smiled apologetically at her, obscuring the stranger as he leant forward and took the bowl. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for me to go into town for your present. It’s still in the port.”

Abigail shrugged, “I don’t mind. I’m just glad that you’re home.”

In another life, where she might have been raised according to the social mores of upper-class London, Abigail might have been an altogether timid creature. However, in this life she had been raised from the age of seven by a Pirate Captain, a great orator, and the cleverest woman in London. And in a move which made Thomas feel a small bit of relief after her strange behaviour earlier, she turned back to John.

“Hello,” she smiled at John, “My name is Abigail.”

John stared back at her, moving the baby slightly closer to himself in his arms. He turned to James. “You have a daughter already?” He seemed close to bolting, one leg already precariously close to the edge of the bed.

Thomas frowned as he filled another two bowls and walked over to the bedside, handing one to James and then one to Miranda. He paused by John’s side, a soft smile on his face.

“Abigail is adopted.” Thomas took a step back as he reached for a spoon and handed it to John, “But I might let her explain it to you.”

“The man who was called my father did great harm to my Father and my Mother, and to my Papa.” Abigail turned back to the pot, ladling out another bowl of soup. “He was cruel to friend and foe alike, and so, now I live with my family here.” She stood only a few feet away from the side of the bed as she began to eat, her manner most unladylike as she practically devoured the soup. “I can assure you that my current situation is far preferable to anything I might have known otherwise.”

Miranda stood and set her bowl down on the table, walking over to the side of the bed, addressing the stranger. “I’ve made enquiries at the church. There’s no reputable Wet Nurse among them, and nor was any doctor or midwife willing to accompany me back home to see to the baby.”

John stiffened, putting his bowl of soup down on the bed, one hand falling to stroke the baby’s arm. “I don’t want them anywhere near her.”

“It’s important that she is seen to regularly while she is so small Mr. Silver, and I doubt that the cut-wife is particularly well suited to dealing with children. Her services are mostly for… well, what I’m saying is that you need to see a doctor. Besides, you are in a precarious situation with your own health.”

“I don’t want them anywhere near me either.” He picked the baby up, holding her tight to his chest once again.

Miranda sighed, returning to her rocking chair now that it was free of a dozing pirate captain. “I made enquiries about a cradle for her too, but there is no reputable carpenter willing to deal with me.”

She began to rock back and forth, a sad smile coming to her face as she closed her eyes.

James began to speak, getting out of the bed to place his empty bowl on the chair by the pot while he did so, “I don’t know why you still go there my sweet,” he climbed back onto the bed, picking up the stranger’s soup bowl, and beginning to feed him while he held the baby.

Thomas watched with interest as the tension drained from John’s body. There was even a small smile on his face as James took a break from his conversation with Miranda to coo at the baby.

“There are benefits to appearing to at least adhere to their beliefs, not being burnt at the stake as a witch chief among them.” Miranda smiled at her James, “and I like the journey over.”

Thomas went to sit beside James on the bed, forgoing the spoon to sip straight from the bowl itself. He resisted the urge to smile as he saw John relax a little more on the bed, “I don’t suppose that there’s a church in Nassau town? One with a friendlier congregation?”

James shook his head. “Not quite. I’ll enquire when I go into town later today.”

John stiffened, looking at James with fear in his eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Only for a few hours, I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Abigail finished her soup, taking it and James’ bowl out to the kitchen, where she laid them in the wash bucket. Straightening up, she brushed down the skirt of her dress, the same tight smile returning to her face as she turned to James.

“Father, might I be able to accompany you to town?” not flinching even when he looked at her in complete confusion, “I could help you in your errands, I wouldn’t be a bother, I promise.”

For a few seconds Thomas watched as James and Miranda had a silent battle, their gazes locked, his wife giving up after a few seconds. “If you are going with your father, then you have to take the horse and cart, I’ll not have you ruining your dress.” She stood, walking over to Abigail and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder, “and under no circumstances are you to be in the town after nightfall. It’s an unsavoury place at the best of times.”

Thomas smiled at the manic grin that came to her face, grinning as she rushed back to her room to get her hat, even as James got out of the bed, and began to pull on his boots.

* * *

Not twenty minutes later, Abigail was sitting beside her Father on the wagon as they headed into town. She smiled as she felt the warm Caribbean sun on her skin, taking in her surroundings eagerly.

“Come now, it can’t be that long since you’ve been to Nassau.” Despite his words, her Father was smiling at her, laughing when Abigail laughed as an errant goose ran across the road not twenty paces in front of them.

“It’s been at least three months.” She turned to her father, “and last time we went it was raining, and I had to stay in Miss Guthrie’s tavern for the entire time we were there lest mud get on my dress.” She sighed happily.

“I meant to speak about Miss Guthrie to you.” She turned in surprise, trying to assess his intent.

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” her Father turned to smile at her reassuringly, “Quite the opposite in fact. You’ve proved to be quite the intelligent young woman, when we’ve had tutors for you you’ve managed to exhaust them. And I hate to think of you being stuck for the rest of your life in the house, spending all of your days sewing, and reading.”

“Mother does that,” Abigail began, “and she’s quite happy.”

“Your mother uses her position far from the town to browbeat the pastor into submission, and she has me, and your Papa, and you. You are a bright child and deserve better, deserve friends. If you consent to it, I was thinking of asking Miss Guthrie to find some employment for you, at the tavern.”

“I have to say, I don’t find the idea of being some tavern wench particularly appealing.”

“Nor do I,” her Father laughed, “I was going to ask Miss Guthrie to apprentice you, to learn the fine art of book-keeping. It’ll keep your mind busy, and introduce you to new people, maybe even help you find some friends your own age.”

Abigail frowned again. “I don’t want to be a burden to you at home-”

“You’ll never be a burden to me, or your Mother, or your Papa. This is more a suggestion to help you make your way in Nassau when the time comes for you to leave us behind and discover the wonders of the world for yourself.”

“Would I have to stay in Nassau?”

“No,” her father transferred the reigns to one hand, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders. “Of course not, can you imagine the fuss that your Mother would make. She’d be entirely outnumbered, and you know how she can’t stand that.”

“And if I don’t enjoy it, if I’m not good at it?”

“Then we’ll find you something else with which to occupy your time.”

Abigail smiled, and remained quiet for the rest of the journey to Nassau.

* * *

Jack Rackham watched with beady eyes as Flint and Flint’s daughter entered the Guthrie tavern. His attention was quickly diverted from the entrance of his main rival in Nassau town by the feeling of long, surprisingly gentle fingers scratching at his scalp.

“Charles,” he sighed and pulled his head away from the other man, “There are things that we need to work on.”

“Such as?” Charles practically purred the words out, reluctance rising in Jack as he thought of what he needed to say.

Jack sighed, looking across the tavern table that he, Charles and Anne were sat at to catch the eye of his red-haired companion from under the brim of her hat.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but we haven’t caught a substantial prize in the last month. And of the last three prizes, none of the leads came from here. The crew are becoming quite displeased with the current establishment.”

“No-one on this island is ever particularly happy with the current establishment.”

Charles returned his hand to the nape of Jack’s neck, as his train of thought was interrupted by the sight of one of the whores from the brothel descend the stairs. Any attempt to go back to his previous train of thought was interrupted when he saw the way that Anne’s eyes were locked on the girl, her mouth pulled down in a frown as she watched the whore leave the brothel.

“Anne?” Jack leaned forward, “Darling, is something the matter?”

Anne shook her head and turned to face him, the brief glimpse of vulnerability hidden behind a stony mask. Jack extended his hand anyway, smiling when she took it in her own.

“Jack’s right, the cunt isn’t giving us nothing and the men are mad about it.”

Jack leant back and rested against Charles front. He waited for his paramour to calm down before he began to speak again, his free hand falling by his side and onto Charles’ thigh.

“I think it’s time for us to consider confronting her,” he sighed as he felt Charles tense up behind him. “Love, I know that you might still have some feeling left for her after everything you went through together, but if you want the crew to remain happy with your leadership, it is of the utmost importance that you present a strong front to them.”

Charles hummed and pressed a kiss to the back of Jack’s neck. “I’ll consider it.”

Jack hummed happily, ready to fall into a light doze when his eye was drawn once again to the top of the stairs. It had been a very long time since he had seen Flint’s adopted progeny in the flesh, but he was quite sure that the young Miss Flint was surveying the patrons of the Guthrie tavern with an expression of hesitant anticipation upon her face.

“Excuse me darling,” Jack disentangled himself from Charles’ arms, stood up and walked over to the base of the stairs, offering the young woman a smile as she approached him.

“You are Captain Flint’s ward, Abigail, are you not?” He offered a mockery of a bow, extending his hand for her to take if she so wished it. “Jack Rackham, at your service.”

Abigail frowned, taking a step back up the stairs, “I believe you serve with Charles Vane, Mr Rackham. And I believe that he is a rival of my Father. Why do you approach me?”

Jack took a step back, holding his hands up, “I mean you no harm, Miss Abigail. My colleagues and I were merely concerned for his health. He’s not been seen much in Nassau Port, despite his ship’s presence.”

“Well I can assure you, Mr. Rackham. My Father is in perfect health. And whatever scheme you are planning at the moment which undoubtedly hinges on undermining him is most unwise.” She stepped forward, putting herself eye to eye with the Quartermaster of the _Ranger_.

“I can assure you that there is no scheme or ulterior motive, it’s just that he seems to have endured the same run of bad luck that we find ourselves experiencing, and I’d like to extend my sympathies,” he extended his hand, “Please, join us. I can assure you that none of us are stupid enough to try to begin anything in a crowded tavern.”

He smiled as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to his table, where she settled next to Anne.

To everyone’s surprise, Anne was the first to talk to her.

“I haven’t heard nowt about that sailor your father was chasing.”

Abigail’s face twitched, but aside from that she did not betray a hint of emotion.

“I’m afraid that I don’t know much of my father’s business. If he’s quarrelled with one of his men, he wouldn’t have told me.”

Charles snorted, and Jack resisted the urge to groan.

“Quarrelled with _one_ of his men? Your father has been beating off rumours of mutiny for months.”

Abigail stilled, her mouth opening for what was undoubtedly a vicious verbal riposte when the familiar figure of Hal Gates moved into Jack’s frame of vision.

The Walrus’ Quartermaster sat on the other side of Abigail, glaring at Charles as he began to speak “Now you probably don’t remember me Miss Abigail,” he began, a smile wide on his face, “The last time we met was at least six months ago, and your father was frightfully busy with the ship, but my name-”

Abigail smiled, “I remember you Mr. Gates. You were on the ship when my Father retrieved me and Papa, how could I forget you?”

A behemoth of a man, Gates’ protegee if Jack wasn’t mistaken, approached the table and sat next to Gates, glaring like the quartermaster as Abigail peered around to look at him properly.

“I don’t believe that I’ve met your friend before, Mr. Gates.”

“This is Mr Bones, the bosun aboard the _Walrus_.” Gates turned to Jack, “What do you want Jack?”

Jack smiled and shrugged. “I’ve heard rumours that your streak of bad luck is coming to an end, perhaps I’m hoping that the change in fortune might be contagious.”

“Are you sure you weren’t hoping to proposition the captain by delaying his daughter?”

Jack sighed and shook his head.

“You know as well as I do that we both benefit from having the other around. There are enough people who take issue with how we conduct ourselves that it is mutually beneficial for the two of us to work in consort-”

He stopped as he felt Charles’ hand come to rest on the small of his back, out of sight of Gates and the others, but still most definitely there, a grounding presence that reminded him to breathe before he collapsed.

Gates shrugged.

“How about this, if we do find something big, you’ll be the first to know about it,” he paused. “Provided you get the animals you call a crew into line. If you can manage that.”

To be fair, Jack had expected some sort of proviso. He just hadn’t expected one which caused the young Miss Flint to recoil from Anne, or one which stung so much when he reflected on it.

“I’ll certainly do my best.”

It was at that moment that the figure of Flint appeared at the top of the stairs. The man seemed weary as he descended them, but the tired air about him evaporated when he saw the motley crew at their table. Instead he wore a fearsome expression, one that Jack might have believed if not for the exhaustion in the ginger captain’s eyes.

“Abigail!” Flint strode towards the table, either ignoring or not seeing the way that Abigail flinched ever so slightly at the sharpness of his voice.

Jack stood, stepping around the table and halting Flint’s progress a little way away from it.

“Captain.”

“What the fuck do you want Rackham?”

Jack sighed.

“We noticed that your ward seemed lost once left to her own devices and decided we were the best of a bad lot to entertain her while you were occupied.” Jack briefly looked away from the furious ginger to gaze back at the table. “I’d request that in exchange for that, you’d refrain from tackling Charles.”

Flint snorted, but his posture relaxed regardless.

“I’ll think about it. What do you really want Rackham?”

Jack smiled ruefully and shrugged.

“There is a rumour going about that you have information about a prize, a rather large one. I’d like to offer the _Ranger_ ’s help, provided we get exclusive right to be your consort.”

Flint pushed past him and took a seat between Anne and Abigail. He looked back and gestured for Jack to join them at the table.

“Let me tell you a story about a man named Vasquez.”

* * *

Much later, when Gates and Jack had agreed to meet properly the next day to discuss terms, Anne took her chance to confront Flint alone.

He was waiting by his cart, Abigail saying goodbye to Gates and Bones while he looked on with a wistful expression on his face. Anne was as silent as a cat as she walked forward and took a place next to him.

“You know, I was out in the wrecks when you were making a commotion over a thief a few nights ago.”

Flint did not reply, instead raising an eyebrow in silent askance that she continue.

“Saw a man, sick and feverish, with a baby. Haven’t seen or heard of either of them since.”

“And you’re worried that I slaughtered the pair of them?”

“Puritans say you do that sort of thing. Your wife’s a witch and your man a demon, and both of them need the blood of newborns to commune with their devil-master.”

Flint laughed softly at that.

“I can assure you Miss Bonny, Mr. Silver and his daughter are well and in my care. No harm has come to them.”

“That the truth?”

Flint nodded. Anne supposed out of all the men in Nassau Town he seemed to be among the least cruel, and so decided to believe him.

She nodded once and then walked off to rejoin Jack.

Her partner in crime was waiting for her outside their shared tent, his eyes going from being wide with worry to warm with relief once he spotted her. He stood and offered her his hand,

“You aren’t angry about the business with Flint are you darling?”

She shook her head and smiled.

“He seems alright.” She took Jack’s hand and pulled him towards the tent. “C’mon Jack, I’m tired.”

And that was the end of that.


	7. To thine own self be true

John woke on the third day of his confinement to find a fearsome crone standing before him at the foot of the bed.

“You’re the cut-wife, aren’t you?”

“Aye lad.”

He sat up, picking Sarah up from where she lay on the bed beside him as the woman approached.

“I’m to take your stitches out today.”

John smiled shakily and nodded, looking out the window and looking in the direction of the fields without actually taking in their aspect. He took a few seconds to breathe and adjust his hold on Sarah before turning back to face the cut-wife.

“Well then you should get on with it.”

The woman walked towards the door, opening it and bringing the woman John understood to be known as Miranda into the room. She smiled carefully, leaning against the ramshackle bedroom door slightly.

“Joan has suggested that I might be a help while you find yourself in this vulnerable position.” She walked forward leaning towards John slightly. “I thought that I could hold onto Sarah and your hand while Joan works.”

John shook his head, pulling his baby closer to his chest while closing his legs slightly.

“I don’t want you to touch her. Or your strange husband, or your daughter. Where’s Flint?”

Miranda frowned. She took a step backwards and raised her hands in what John could recognise to be a placating gesture.

He quashed down any feelings of guilt which might have threatened to make an appearance. His survival and now that of his daughter was more important than the feelings of someone who was only tangentially connected to him anyway.

“James - that is his name I suggest you use it - is currently in Nassau town, as are Abigail and Thomas. So, I’m afraid that you are going to have to either deal with me or have no help in this matter at all.”

John nodded, looking to Joan and motioning for her to come to his side with a short jerk of his head.

“Most of the things I have done in my life have been done alone, this needn’t be any different.”

He closed his eyes against Miranda’s disappointed expression and rested his head against the whitewashed wall. He began breathing through his nose, his arms moving Sarah until she rested her head upon his shoulder, the wispy hair on the top of her head brushing against the lobe of his ear as he felt her heart beating against his.

“You can start now.”

John flinched as he heard Joan suck on her teeth from the side of the bed.

“I need you lying down, silly boy.”

He opened his eyes to find the cut-wife staring straight at him, her hands busy with her tools. Miranda was still behind her, her soft brown eyes gleaming with a worry that John could not confess to understanding.

While he was sure that it was meant to reassure him, John could profess only to feeling a sense of unease as the brunette stepped away from the door and towards the bed.

“John, Mr. Silver, I mean,” She licked her lips, holding her hands in front of her stomach as she took another step towards the bed, “I know that you have a stated distaste for my house, and my family. I will not confess to understanding why, however, at this moment in time, it will only cause you harm. Please, at least let me hold your hand.”

He remained still for a moment, staring at this strange woman who spoke without care for what he might think of her, and instead of with care for what he was going through.

“C’mon lad,” Joan spoke, gently pulling at his hips until he’d fallen into a lying position, “You’ll want to put her down next to you if Mrs. Barlow isn’t to be holding her. Don’t want to take the chance that you squeeze her too tightly.”

John nodded, laying Sarah down next to him on the bed.

Miranda held out a hand, smiling at John.

“if you’re worried about James thinking you’re a coward, know that he won’t. All men are allotted a certain amount of pain to bear in their lives, he wouldn’t judge you for the way in which you handle yours.”

John sighed, closing his eyes as he took Miranda’s hands and pulled her to sit by him on the bed.

\---

After Joan had finished and had been paid by Miranda, the lady of the house helped John to dress in a simple shirt and some over-large trousers and took him by the arm to the rocking chair in the kitchen.

The last time that he had been in this room had been when Billy had carried him through to the bedroom, needless to say, he could better appreciate the quiet dignity of the space now that he was fully lucid and had his daughter in his arms.

Miranda was standing by the kitchen table, cutting up a freshly baked loaf of bread while the kettle boiled in the fireplace. One in a while she’d look over to John and smile, her face quietly concerned as her gaze flicked from his face to Sarah’s.

After she’d finished with the bread, and had brought the kettle from the fire, she sat down properly, arranging the food on the breadboard.

“May I ask what you’re doing? There’s no-one in the house but you, I, and Sarah. That’s far too much for the two of us to eat.”

Miranda sighed, standing and bringing the breadboard out to the front veranda. She sighed as she placed the food and tea-pot on the outside table, coming in and extending her hand to John when she reached him.

“The interior of New Providence is, overall, a safer place to be than the streets of Nassau Town,” she smiled at him as John took her hand, and John wondered at the strength in her arms as she lifted his to his feet. “Unfortunately, it has a curious pastor, who has taken to visiting me weekly, on Wednesdays, to discuss theology, and appeal for me to leave Captain Flint.”

“Today is only Tuesday,” John frowned as Miranda helped him to sit upon one of the two chairs, adjusting Sarah in his arms as he looked up at Miranda.

“Yes, but I fear my enquiries about a wet-nurse may have piqued his curiosity, and I’d hate to be faced with Pastor Lambrick unarmed.”

“And I am your armour in this endeavour?”

Miranda’s lips quirked as she began to pour the tea, “No, I’d not put you in the line of fire. Think of yourself more as my moral support.”

“I must confess, I have little fondness for men of faith, especially the puritanical ones.”

“I sympathise with you on that front,” Miranda sighed as a figure dressed in heavy black clothing materialised from around a bend in the road. “Speak of the devil.”

John snorted, “If only.”

Pastor Lambrick, was by John’s estimation, a vile man. He had the air of the sort of man prone to preaching one lesson from the pulpit on Sunday and living his life the rest of the week entirely by another.

It was an estimation which remained unchanged by the man’s ascent up the stairs, and the way in which he seemed to take great pleasure in looking down on John and Miranda before he took to leaning against the veranda’s posts in the absence of a chair.

“The congregation was most worried about you, madam.”

“I expected that with the keen observational skills of many of the ladies of your herd, Pastor, that it would have been evident that there was little chance of either I or my daughter carrying a child to term without anyone noticing.”

Pastor Lambrick smiled, an oily looking thing which made John’s stomach turn. The man stepped forward, opening the bible which had previously been clasped to his chest and hidden by his black coat, and pulling out a page of paper with a few lines of chicken scrawl written upon it.

“I thought that I might check up on your family’s welfare and ask for your opinion on the sermon for Sunday at the same time.”

For the first time, the Pastor’s gaze fell upon John. It took all of John’s willpower for him not to shudder as the man’s eyes dropped to Sarah, sleeping unaware of the potential danger that this stranger represented to her continued existence.

“I was not aware that you had company, Mrs. Barlow. I take it that this is the infant you were making enquiries on the behalf of,” he walked forward, reaching out with a hand, only stopping just short of touching her when John flinched back.

“Yes, this is Sarah. John is her father.” Miranda poured some tea into a cup, holding it out for the Pastor to take while she took the hand-written sermon in her hand, “He came to the island a few days ago, and will be staying with us indefinitely.”

John smiled at her slightly, despite his earlier mistrust, he found that she was the preferable alternative to the Pastor. Unfortunately, her careful reading of the sermon left him vulnerable to the slimy smile of the altogether despicable man.

“Was she born aboard the ship which brought you here? She’s very young.”

John nodded, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as the Pastor leaned into his personal space.

“Such a tragedy that her mother did not survive the journey,” Miranda sighed as she looked up at the Pastor, “Now, I’d first like to question why you have decided to equate love with suffering? It seems to me to be a very shallow reading of the text.”

John smiled as Pastor Lambrick turned away from him and began to debate with, and lose to, Miranda’s excellent rhetoric. He let himself sink into the chair, rocking Sarah gently in his arms as she stirred in her sleep.

It didn’t take very long for the Pastor to leave, having been terribly embarrassed by Miranda’s superior understanding of the text that he claimed to have a thorough working knowledge of.

The man stood, pensive for a moment as the sun warmed his pasty face. Then he turned, fixing John with a nauseating smile, one which made John resist the urge to shudder.

“I’ll be around early next week so that we might discuss the details of her christening.”

John’s smile slid off his face as the Pastor turned and left, leaving John and Miranda alone on the veranda.

John could feel Miranda’s gaze on him, the brunette frowning when she took in his drawn face.

“John, are you alright?” She stood and walked towards him, kneeling before him when he didn’t respond. “I haven’t worn you out, have I?”

John shook his head. It was an ample answer to both of the questions.

“Would you like to go inside?”

John shook his head again. He looked down at Sarah, who looked up at him with an accusatory look, as if to ask why he hadn’t done more to prevent the incoming barrage of questions that would no doubt follow them around now that they had settled.

“He’s an unpleasant man, but I’m afraid that my continued existence here is dependant on him considering me to be a virtuous woman of good morals.” She picked up his forgotten cup of tea and brought it to his lips, “Drink, it’ll make you feel better.”

John nodded, taking the cup from her with one hand. He smiled at her tersely, aware now that it wasn’t her fault that he was justifiably wary of the world, and that she didn’t seem to be actively malicious towards him.

“James said he’d return tonight, if you’d like for me to wait, and leave you be until he returns, then I would be more than happy to sit and read quietly, and let you observe the day.”

John shook his head, placing the tea cup down on the tray before he began to speak.

“I cannot confess to having the fondest memories of institutions of the Christian faith.”

Miranda nodded, holding her hand across the tea tray and smiling at him.

“There is no impetus for you to attend the services, or even to have Sarah christened. If you wished it, I would happily anoint her with the blood of a slaughtered lamb under the light of a full moon. There’s no reason to fear me, John.”

John smiled, groaning as he tried to stand before he admitted defeat and relaxed into his chair. “And how long before the good puritan people of New Providence Island decide to enquire as to the condition of my daughter?”

He smiled softly at Miranda, noting the sad recognition in her eyes that he himself was familiar with wearing.

“I will talk to James when he returns with Abigail. We can make provision for you and her.”

Miranda stood, picking up the tray and heading towards the front door.

“I’ll bring out a blanket for you, if you’d like to remain out here.”

John nodded, holding Sarah close to his chest, so lost in gazing upon her aspect that he barely noticed the return of the cart with James, Thomas and Abigail a few hours later.

Thomas and Abigail went straight inside, while James stopped a few feet away from John.

“The cut-wife has been, it take it?”

John nodded. He tried to stand again, only to find that himself thwarted by the weight of Sarah. He bit back a curse as James took a step forward and held out his hands.

“Better me to carry her than you to drop her.”

John sighed, holding Sarah out and watching James carefully as the taller man took her from his arms. He put his hands on the arms of his chair, pushing himself into a standing position with great difficulty.

“Are you sure that the cut-wife cured me?”

He limped into the house, not waiting for James to reply before he sat down on the vacant rocking chair. He gestured for James to hand Sarah back to him, closing his eyes when he felt her now familiar weight back in his arms.

“The Pastor visited today.” Miranda’s voice carried from the fireplace, “I fear he’s going to use the baby’s presence as an excuse to visit more often.”

“I can shoot him if you wish,” admittedly, John had only known James a few days, the majority of which had been spent in a fevered haze, but he swore that there was a joking lilt in the ginger’s tone.

“How are you finding your introduction to Miss Guthrie, Abigail?” Miranda sounded like she was walking further forward, in the direction of her returned family.

John opened his eyes to observe the youngest member of James’ family. She was a curious thing, somehow seeming timid and brave at the same time.

She smiled at Miranda’s question, walking towards the table and sitting before she spoke.

“I think that abrasive is the term most would look for. She’s meticulous and likes things to be done well. I think, given time, I might come to like her.”

John could not help but smile as the young girl looked towards James with a curious expression.

“I wanted to talk to you about my job, Father.”

James smiled and walked over to her, sitting opposite her at the wooden table. He caught John’s gaze, his lips quirking briefly before he turned to give Abigail his full attention.

“It’s not too much for you, is it?”

“No, but I feel that I’d do better if I looked more like the accountant for the Guthrie family, rather than a puritan from the interior.”

“There might be something for you in one of the trunks from the merchant ship, I’m sure you and your mother will be able to come up with something.”

Miranda pulled the pot from its hook on the fire and brought it over to the table. She gestured for Thomas to join her, smiling at him when he sat next to James at the table.

“With all of the confusion of the past few days, I’d almost forgotten that you had a piratical career.”

James grunted, looking over to John again with some unreadable expression.

“Will you not join us Mr. Silver?”

John nodded, pushing himself into a standing position and walking over to the table. He settled next to Miranda, nodding gratefully at her when she ladled a portion of the night’s stew into a bowl and handed it to him.

“It’s nothing special, but it should warm you up.”

For only the second time since he’d regained consciousness after the wrecks, John found himself under the careful scrutiny of Thomas.

“I hope that Pastor Lambrick didn’t upset you too much John.”

John shook his head, looking at James in a silent appeal for the ginger to distract the table from him.

“I’d like you to come into Nassau Town with me tomorrow John.” James smiled, as though they had always been good friends, and he hadn’t chased John into the wrecks not a week earlier.

“Why?”

“I have a, well there’s a hut on the beach. The crew still thinks that you came to us as a cook, and I’d like to keep up the pretence for a little while longer.”

“I lied about being able to cook, you know.”

James smiled, a brief quirk of lips which John, despite his best efforts not to be, found himself entirely entranced by.

“I was well aware, I’m quite sure that I’ll be able to teach you something worth knowing. Besides, I’m quite sure that you’d prefer the denizens of Nassau town to any more visits from Pastor Lambrick.”

“Would I have to leave Sarah behind?”

James shrugged.

“We can negotiate.”

Abigail smiled at John, leaning forward slightly so as to be able to have a clear line of sight of Sarah.

“She’s a dear thing, maybe you could keep her in the office with me during the day when you have duties to attend to, and then you could take her in the night when I return home.”

John shook his head, a cold rush running through him at the thought of being separated from his daughter., frowning at Abigail before he finished off his soup.

“Have you ever taken care of a baby before?”

Miranda shook her head, giving John a look as if to tell him not to entertain an impossible fantasy before she turned to her daughter.

“You would have your own duties to attend to during the day, Abigail. Besides, babies need constant attention, they need to be held, they need to be changed, they need to be fed.”

Abigail put her spoon down, her smile dropping as she brought a hand up, counting of her fingers as she began to speak.

“I can hold her and write at the same time, I’ve seen you change her, and we’ve been using animal milk for her. Besides, Father and Mr. Silver will be nearby if there’s an emergency. And quite honestly, I’d not put a small infant within five miles of Pastor Lambrick if I could avoid it.”

Thomas snorted, turning his attention to his soup when Miranda and John looked at him in exasperation.

Abigail turned to James, leaning forward with a hopeful smile.

“Father, please.”

James looked at Miranda, John watching as a silent battle was fought between the two of them.

Eventually James returned his gaze to Abigail, smiling softly and gesturing to John.

“It’s not my decision, my Jewel. It’s Mr. Silver you should be asking.”

John shook his head and clutched Sarah closer to his chest.

“I don’t want her to be so far away from me. Not while she is so young.”

He looked down at his daughter, one hand abandoning his soup spoon to brush her wispy hair away from her forehead. She was so delicate, not yet even a week old and he was being asked to part with her? Even the suggestion of a temporary separation seemed to brook disaster, as though by letting her out of his sight he might lose her forever.

He only noticed how quiet the room had gone when he heard James speak.

“We can discuss this further in the morning.”

John nodded.

“I take it I’m to stay in here for the time being.”

Much to his surprise, James stood up and came to rest one hand on his waist and one under the arm which was supporting Sarah. He nudged John forwards, taking some of his weight as they walked.

“I can’t imagine that Joan wanted you to be quite so active quite so quickly,” James helped him down onto the bed, and took Sarah into his arms. “You should rest.”

John nodded, frowning when he realised for the first time that there was a cradle by the side of the bed. He looked at James incredulously.

“Surely you didn’t work that quickly.”

He moved himself over the side of the bed, wincing as he felt the newly healed skin protest at the change of distribution in his weight.

James shrugged.

“Call it providence, but there was a cradle on Parish’s ship, and seeing as most of the men would have as soon called it firewood as actually use it, I decided to claim it for more deserving parties. She’ll be quite comfortable.”

John paused, leaning down to kiss Sarah on the top of her head as she was lowered into the well-appointed cradle.

“She’ll be right by your side when you need to know she’s there,” he leant forward, helping John to bring his legs up onto the bed, and arranging the covers over him. “Surely you can’t mean to bring her with you into Nassau, onto raids?”

John shrugged.

“I don’t want to leave her here. It may suit your wife, but I don’t like the life here.”

James leant forwards, brushing John’s hair out of his eyes. “To be honest, neither does she, but it’s safer here than in Nassau town, and she likes to infuriate puritans.”

John smiled, shimmying out of his pants and handing them to James. “I don’t know if these are yours or Thomas’, but thank you anyway.”

James grinned. He leant forward again, resting one hand on John’s neck and using his thumb to rub at his pulse. John closed his eyes, bringing up his left hand to run his fingers over the bones of James’ wrist. For a moment, he was reminded of the way that his life was meant to go, of how, in an ideal world, he would have had many more of these moments much earlier on.

But then one of James’ calluses caught on his skin, and he was reminded of the danger of consorting with a dangerous pirate.

He fell back onto the bed and looked at James’ tiredly.

“Your family is probably waiting for you.”

James, no, Flint stood, his face back to being closed off.

“If you wished it, you could count yourself among their number.”

John shook his head and sighed.

“The family of a fearsome pirate, one who in short order is going to cheat the King of Spain out of 5 million dollars? There is no place for a strange creature and a fatherless baby in that story.”

James sighed again but made no move to protest John’s remarks.

“We will go to Nassau early tomorrow morning. You should rest to prepare for the journey.”

He turned and walked into his bedroom, leaving John alone with Sarah. They lay in darkness, the only source of light coming from the dying embers of the dinner fire.

John reached out and found Sarah’s tiny hand, smiling when he felt her finger wrap around one of his and pull with all their might.

“It’s okay little one. I’m going to figure out how to get us out of this.”

In John’s experience, nothing good came of staying in one place for too long.


	8. We know what we are, but know not what we may be

The first thing that Abigail noticed upon entering her workplace the next day was the litany of curses raining down from the office of her employer.

The young brunette alighted the stairs as her Father walked beside her. They exchanged a glance, her Father walking ahead of her to see what could possibly be happening. John remained in the cart, Abigail feeling his eyes on her back as he adjusted his grip on Sarah.

Eleanor burst out of her office, stopping at the top of the stairs when she saw her accountant and her best earner halfway up the steps. She breathed out, her hands falling to her waist as she allowed the tension escape her.

“Someone’s taken Max.” The blonde breathed heavily, and for the first time since Abigail had met her, she looked to be on the verge of tears, and completely without control of the situation.

Abigail turned to her Father, waiting for him to react before she decided what to do with the information that had been presented to her. He spared her a glance before turning back to Eleanor.

“Abigail, I think for now, Miss Guthrie would not mind if you were to work in my hut today. I’ll bring John and Sarah to you after I’ve resolved this.”

The blonde nodded frantically, gesturing towards Abigail.

“Mr. Scott will bring you the accounts I wanted you to look over.”

Abigail nodded, hurrying away as the fearsome Miss Guthrie raised her eyebrows in a clear dismissal.

In general, the denizens of Nassau avoided interfering with Abigail’s life. To have a feared pirate Captain as one of her Fathers and the witch of Nassau as her Mother meant that she was seen as far too difficult a prize to capture. In general, this was something she was thankful for, however on this occasion she was finding the imagined weight of her solitude to be quite oppressive.

It took her many minutes to make her way to the beach, and even more to find he father’s hut. She had many memories of playing in there as a smaller child, when she had been young enough that no-one looked at her strangely for wearing the garb of a boy. In truth, it had not changed much since the last time that she had been there. There was still an empty crate filled with blankets that would fit Sarah quite snuggly, and a ratty chair which had been taken her father’s crew from the same ship which had brought her to Nassau.

She had scarcely taken a seat at the lone table in the hut before the door opened.

Mr. Scott entered the hut, carrying a few legers in his hand.

“Miss Guthrie wishes to apologise for her words earlier, you must understand that she was taken by surprise by the turn of events.” He flashed her a smile as he walked further into the hut.

Abigail motioned for him to sit down, smiling as she took the legers. “I understand. Can I offer you anything to drink? There’s rum, or water, or rum and water.”

He sat on the seat opposite her and smiled genuinely, “I would not say no to some rum, Miss Flint.”

Abigail placed the legers on the table and stood to rummage through the many crates that her father had in the room. After a few seconds she found the rum and two metal cups. It was only another second before she was pouring the brown liquid into Mr. Scott’s cup.

“It’s such a strange name to call my own. Did Eleanor give any particular instructions, or am I just to oversee the quality of the work of her previous accountant?”

“As I understand it, she would like to reduce the overhead associated with our operation, you are to look over the ledgers, and see where we are spending more than is necessary. You have a week, and if you have any questions, you know where our offices are. If you have any worries you may bring them directly to me.”

He stood and nodded at her, placing his empty glass of rum down on the table.

“Thank you, Mr. Scott.”

He left.

She opened the ledgers, smiling as she went over the costs. In truth, the books were well kept, only small adjustments needed to reduce the running costs. In truth, she found this sort of work to be much easier than the sewing and embroidery which the women of the interior always seemed to espouse.

She was halfway through the first ledger when she heard footsteps approaching and she began to speak.

“You know, I think I like being an accountant, ledgers seem to be much easier to deal with than knitting patterns.”

The door opened, however the shadow cast was far to large to be left by her father, or John. She looked up, finding herself at a loss for words when she saw Billy standing in the doorway.

“Miss… I mean, Abigail. I was expecting your father to be in here.”

Abigail nodded.

“He’s working with Eleanor at the moment. They were in the tavern last I saw of them.”

Billy nodded and made to leave. Abigail bit her lip.

“He said he’d come here later, if you wanted to wait with me. What did you want to discuss with him?”

Billy smiled. He nodded and sat opposite Abigail at the desk.

“Consortship and the need for careening. I came to look for your father yesterday at your home. He wasn’t there, just a preacher, your mother, and Silver. I left before anyone could have seen me.”

“You should have made yourself known, I’m sure mother would have delighted in having a bona fide pirate chase away a puritan pastor.” Abigail smiled as she began to look over Miss Guthrie’s accounts again.

“Silver is settling in well then?”

“I think that he’s doing well enough. We all love Sarah, too.”

Billy smiled and ducked his head.

“It’s a nice name.”

“I think so.”

She racked her brain to try to think of something more to say. Fortunately, she was saved from, having to make any more conversation by her father walking into the hut, supporting John with an arm around the waist. He grunted when he saw Billy.

“Billy”

Her father helped John onto one of the empty crates. Abigail walked over to him and helped him settle while he was still holding Sarah in his arms. She smiled as the tiny hands reached out to John, as though Sarah instinctively knew where her father was and wanted to be near him.

Billy stood.

“Mr. Gates thinks it might be wise to consort our ship with _The Ranger_ for the purposes of the next haul. I thought you might want to know.”

Abigail watched, transfixed, as her father’s expression went from practically jovial to downright murderous. He turned to look at her, smoothing out his expression enough to smile at her.

“Abigail, stay here while Mr. Bones and I discuss this, ah, development.” He glanced at John, “You can demonstrate your cooking skills later, Mr. Silver.”

Her father left. Silver turned to look at her.

“She needs to be fed soon. Do you have the milk?”

Abigail nodded, she reached around in the bag she’d brought with her to get out the sealed bottle, only to find that she didn’t have one with her. “Oh, shit.”

John sighed wearily, swallowing and nodding before he spoke again. “Would you mind giving me the room while I feed her?”

Abigail nodded, and walked outside. The men of _The Walrus_ had come to stand around the hut, her father in the middle of them giving an impassioned speech. While his oratory skills had ceased to impress her after the age of twelve, the men seemed to be fascinated by him. No doubt he was trying to convince his crew to ally with _The Ranger_ despite their mutual animosity, though given the magnitude of the prize, she had no doubt that the men would be able to put aside their petty grievances for a short time at least.

He turned and finished as he heard her close the door behind herself. He excused himself from the gathering and walked over to her

“Is there a problem?”

“John wanted some privacy while he fed Sarah. I think I’ve done enough work for now, I wanted to ask about Miss Guthrie and Max.”

“It’s complicated.” He smiled at her, taking note of her now ink-stained sleeves, “The men have brought the chest with clothes for you ashore. It’s a bit late in the day for you to change, but it might be an idea to choose some things that you’d like for the future.”

Abigail nodded, and waited for him to give some orders before he brought her to Mr. Dufresne’s tent. The ship’s accountant smiled at her for a few seconds before he went back to cataloguing the haul, his nose seemingly permanently buried in his ledgers.

“I’ve tallied that the chest and the cradle will take about half of your share from the last haul, Captain.”

Abigail turned to her father, expecting him to protest the cost, only to find him looking completely happy.

“It’s fine, my Jewel. Take what you want, and the rest we can give to your mother.”

Abigail smiled as she opened the chest, her eyes widening as she saw the skirts and shirts that would be far more useful to her than her current attire. She pulled out a soft blue silk waistcoat and marvelled at the delicate embroidered peacocks on it.

“Is it to your satisfaction my Jewel?”

She nodded and closed the chest.

“Would you like help carrying it to the cart?”

Her father shook his head. He quirked his eyebrows in the way he only did when he was making a particularly terrible joke and leaned in.

“I might ask Billy though.”

“Father, don’t you dare.” She took a step towards him, her fists clenching as she came within striking distance of him.

He chuckled before pushing her towards the entrance of the tent. He shoved her lightly on the back to get her onto the sand and smiled again when she turned back to glare at him.

“Father, please don’t tease him, he’s the only friend I have on your crew. You must promise me that you won’t tease him.”

Her father laughed again.

“I make no promises. Go back to John, I’ll fetch you and you can return the ledgers when we head home.”

Abigail paused by the entrance of the tent and looked back at her father. She noted the way that he seemed to be happier than he usually was, that he was lighter than he had been before word of this prize had come through. Normally she would have been happy to see this lightness, but now she couldn’t help the sense of foreboding which came with this change in his spirits.

She turned back to her father and walked towards him.

“You’ve been coming home more than you normally do these past few days.”

Her father looked at her, his expression softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I have a feeling that this haul might keep me away from home for some time, I’d like to take the opportunity to see you all while I can.”

Abigail nodded, and walked back towards the hut.

John had just finished feeding Sarah by the time Abigail returned to the hut. He was holding Sarah so that her front was pressed against his chest, and her face was visible over his left shoulder. Whatever might have been though to be charming about the scene evaporated as the dear little baby spat up some of her lunch onto a cloth that he had placed over his shoulder.

“Te amo, Sarah, te amo.”

He turned and froze when he saw Abigail standing in the doorway. He placed Sarah back into her box, wiping the cloth over her mouth before he stood up and faced Abigail again.

“How long were you standing there Abigail?”

“Not longer than a few seconds. I take it she fed well?”

John nodded, smiling tersely for a few seconds before he took a seat at the desk.

“It was less painful than the last time.”

“I wish I could say the same of my ledgers. Miss Guthrie is quite, um, formidable. I’d hate to disappoint her.”

“I feel much the same about your Father.”

“He’s gentle when he wants to be. You just had the misfortune of arriving at a very stressful time.”

John smiled at her.

“He isn’t your actual father, nor if I understand anything from my time in my sick-bed, did your mother birth you, and thus Thomas isn’t your real papa either.” He paused, peering over the desk to look at Sarah, only looking back at Abigail when he seemed content, “How does that work?”

Abigail bit back a cutting remark, understanding that there was only curiosity in his voice, and not malice. Instead she smiled and walked over to the desk, closing her first ledger and bringing a second one out of the box. She opened it, looking down at the careful calculations on the first page before she began to speak.

“My father, I mean, the man, the people I was born to… They didn’t love me, nor did they spend much time or effort on trying to know me. When Flint, my Father, took the ship we were aboard, Peter Ashe could not have cared less about my well-being. When I cowered in the hold, it was my papa Thomas who comforted me, and then when we were taken aboard _The Walrus_ , it was my Father, your Flint, who ensured that I was safe and comfortable.”

“And when you were in Nassau, I suppose it was Mrs. Barlow who kept you safe from harm, and clothed and fed you?” John smirked, his face clearly not convinced from her speech.

“All I am saying, is that three people, who had no obligation on the basis of blood, have taken care of me, and shown me nothing but love for the past ten years. And if you are afraid that you or your daughter will be cast out because there is no bond of blood between my Father and your Sarah, well, this is the proof you need that you need not fear any longer.”

John nodded.

Abigail looked at her ledgers again briefly, then lifted her head to address John.

“What was it like, having Sarah? If you don’t mind me asking.”

John looked over her shoulder for a few seconds before he returned his gaze to the baby in his arms.

“I didn’t know that it was happening for the first six or so months, you know? I thought that I hadn’t eaten enough, it’s happened before, so when things stopped, I just took it as… I don’t know the fuck what, but I ignored it, tried to find good food.”

He sighed.

“You don’t have to go on, if you don’t…”

“No, I’ve started now, I might as well finish.”

He kissed Sarah on the forehead, then looked Abigail straight in the eye.

“I decided I needed to leave London, so I sign the employment papers for a merchant vessel. I feel her kick not two minutes later. I go to a midwife, and she tells me what my particular affliction is.”

“You hadn’t felt her kick before?”

John nodded his head and shrugged.

“I tell myself it’s nothing, that I’ve eaten something strange, or that someone bumped me in the street. I’m good with my words you know, but I wasn’t expecting self-deception to be my particular forte,” he sniffed, “Anyway, I find out, but by then I’ve already signed my papers, and I don’t have anyone to hide me from the authorities. We leave a month later, and then, barely a week ago, your Father takes my ship, and here we are.”

Abigail smiled at him softly, leaning across the desk and placing one hand on his shoulder.

“You know you’ve avoided answering my question. Rather expertly, and anyone else might not have noticed. My Papa was a politician, and my Mama survived high society.”

“And what, are you going to tell them that I’m a liar, best to be cast out with all the other riff-raff?”

Abigail sighed and shook her head. She stood and walked to Silver’s side before she knelt next to him and took his hand in hers.

“Your past is your own, Mr. Silver. You owe no explanation to anyone, except maybe my Father, and he won’t ask you for one before you’re ready to tell him. I don’t know what happened in your past, or why you do not share it, and nor do I need to. Your story is yours.”

“But?”

“Eventually you might find it easier to tell your story, no matter what horrors you may have faced, because I can tell you with absolute certainty that you will not be shamed for them.”

John chuckled mirthlessly. He looked at her with eyes that suddenly seemed so very young, and full of terror.

“How can you know that? How can you possibly promise me that?”

Abigail smiled up at him.

“My parents have always told me that shame shackles the soul. The sooner people free them from them, the sooner productive work can be done.”

She stood and returned to her desk.

“Are there any more questions which you’d like me to answer, or can I return to my work for today?”

John shook his head and curled up on the seat.

A few hours of this quiet state passed before her Father returned to the hut. His stern expression softened as he saw John sleep in the chair, only turning to face Abigail when she cleared her throat.

“Are you really going to take him with you when you head out to sea?”

Her Father nodded, moving over to the box that held Sarah. He knelt next to her, scooping her into his arms before he walked over to John and woke him up.

Abigail had to admit that there was something charming in the way that John woke up, having never been privy to it before. Something must have passed between him and her Father, something good, if the small smile that came to his face was any indication. He placed his feet down on the ground, using one arm to rest against her Father as he stood.

“I fear I won’t be much use to you as a cook if the amount of time I spend sleeping is any indication.”

“We can talk about that at home.” He turned to her, the tips of his waxed moustache quirking as he smiled at her and nodded for her to stand. “Did you get much done?”

She nodded.

“I don’t think I’ll be going the same way as the last accountant.”

“If Dufresne ever bites it, I know where to look for his replacement.”

The strange trio started to leave the hut, John taking Sarah into his arms and allowing James to support most of his weight as they slowly walked over to the beginning of the paved streets where Miranda’s cart was waiting for them.

Abigail briefly held Sarah in her arms as her Father helped John onto the back of the cart. She caught John’s eye as she handed the swaddled infant over to him, internally cheering at the soft, unguarded smile he gifted her with.

She left him and Sarah to themselves in the back of the cart, joining her Father and taking the reins.

“So you’re friends with Billy?”

Abigail could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and did her best to keep her eyes forward and on the road. It was true that she had spent much time considering Billy, his form, the myriad ways in which he might be considered pleasing to the eyes.

But she had come to the conclusion, and a rather frightening one at that, that despite his clear advantage when one considered his body, and his kind tone, that she found absolutely no desire within herself for him.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

She took the reins from her father and urged the horse to walk a little faster.

* * *

Her Mother only needed to take one look at her to know that Abigail had been teased by her father. Abigail hopped off the cart and threw the reins in her father’s direction before she stormed past her mother and into the house.

He Papa was sitting on the rocking chair by the fire and looked at her with an expression of clear confusion as she stormed past him, down the hall and into her room.

Abigail threw herself down on top of her covers and screamed into her pillow.

She heard someone enter the room, her mother’s soft footsteps giving away her visitor before their gentle footsteps did.

“I had to hold Sarah while your Father helped Mr. Silver off of the cart,” the bed dipped as her mother sat beside her and laid a hand on her back. “He didn’t seem pleased for me to be holding her, it might be good for you to explain your out of character outburst just then.”

Abigail sat up and glared at her mother for al of three seconds before she sank against her in a hug.

“Father is interfering in things that he can’t possibly understand, that I don’t understand myself.”

 Her mother sighed “He’s only glad to see you blossoming into a young woman. Once he’s had his fun he’ll let you be. Now come, you should have some dinner before you rage against him.”

Abigail nodded and stood, walking with her Mother back into the kitchen and with an altogether cheerier disposition. Mr Silver looked up at her with an expression of confusion that turned to amusement once she turned on her Father.

“Father, I’d like you to know that if you continue to tease me about whatever friendship is forming between me and Mr. Bones, I will be forced to keelhaul you using your own ship,” she turned away for a second before she came up with another thought and returned her gaze to him, “And I know that it will hurt because Mr. Bones said you haven’t careened in months!”

She sat next to Mr. Silver, and made googly eyes at Sarah for the rest of the dinner.

When she eventually retired, she found herself sitting alone in her room. As she had helped her Father clean her papa’s efforts at a stew, she had caught a glimpse of her Mother and her Papa sitting with Sarah while John changed into his night clothes.

The tiny baby seemed content, squirming around in her Papa’s grip so that she could better try to suck on her toes with her mouth.

Abigail smiled sadly and turned to her father.

“What would you say if I told you that I was not normal? That I feared there was something wrong with me?”

Her Father smiled at her, sparing a glance to them and Sarah before he returned to the difficult task of scrubbing the heavy pot clean of residual soup.

“You know, I didn’t tell Thomas that I knew that we were soulmates before we first kissed. I worried that he’d look down on me as a man of common birth at first, that I was an aberration, and then after that, I worried that it would interfere with the easy rapport that we’d built up.”

“And Mother?”

“I told her at the same time as Thomas, after I realised that the fiery debates about shame and art and history were not something she’d ever withdraw from me. They knew of course, they didn’t want to spook me.”

“And it was their acceptance that made you feel whole?”

“It helped, why?” he finished his work and smiled at her, “You know, the lack of a soul-mark doesn’t mean that you’re meant to be without any love or companionship in your life. It just means that the universe doesn’t think you need a nudge in the right direction, that the divine trusts the head on your shoulders better than most.”

Abigail sighed.

“That isn’t it, I don’t know if I can even explain what it is.”

Her Father smiled at her before he put down his cleaning things and bid her go to bed.

“You know, whatever situation you might find yourself in, you needn’t face the world alone. Sleep now, my Jewel. The world will be brighter in the morning.”

Abigail rolled her eyes affectionately before she made her way to her bedroom.

Her last thought before she drifted off was of how confusing and strange the world was.


	9. It will have blood they say; blood will have blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the schedule slip guys! I recently got a cat from the pound, and aside from being an excellent alarm clock, she also needs a lot of care and attention so she's taking up a lot of my time (she's precious). I've also been trying to do a lot more stuff irl, which has cut down on writing time.
> 
> I am trying to keep up to the once every two weeks schedule for this fic, and once a week for the other one. I have clear plans for where both fics are going and I have a lot of chapters already written in advance which should accomodate me having less writing time.

Singleton had called the vote soon after James dropped Abigail off at the tavern to work with Mr. Scott and had his discussion with Vane. Hal came into the hut while John was feeding Sarah. James stood and ushered his quartermaster out of the ramshackle structure before his still-flighty soulmate could complain of the breach in privacy.

“This better be important Hal.”

“Singleton has called for a vote to be taken, and you don’t have the numbers.”

James closed the door, leaning over Hal as imposingly as he could.

“What the fuck do you mean that I don’t have the votes? You said that you put all of the right people in the right places so that it would never happen! You said that he’d lost ten votes!”

Hal sighed and took a step back, though from the way that he was vibrating, James reckoned that there was a high chance of the man exploding in rage before five minutes were out.

“He’s using the fact that no-one has seen the fucking cook for the better part of a week to claim that you murdered him, it’s turned more than half the crew against you.”

“The cook’s not dead. You’ve seen him, Billy’s seen him. Why aren’t you dispelling these rumours?”

“Because the last time that he was seen by anyone he was half delirious and sweating bullets.”

James sighed, he could see only one way to repair the situation with the crew, but he had a feeling that John would take none to kindly to it.

“Are they all on board?”

Hal nodded.

“I’ll be there, with John in a few minutes, if you could find somewhere for him to put Sarah down to sleep, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

Hal nodded again and left.

James walked back into his hut, smiling at John as his soulmate helped Sarah to clear any milk from her throat with gentle pats on the back.

“We’re needed on the ship. A vote is happening, and you are the best chance for me to win it.”

John frowned. “So, I am to be your leverage?”

James sighed and took a step back.

“Trust me when I say that you are worth far more than that to me. But for now, what I really need is you to make an appearance before the crew before even more of the men take me for a baby-killing murderer of grieving fathers.”

John sighed and nodded before he stood up. James noted, with worry, that he had managed to completely clear his face, giving absolutely no indication to how he was feeling. If it was a skill that he was going to use so often, James feared than even the most tentative trust would be impossible to form between them.

John remained silent as James led his across the beach, onto one of the longboats and as he began rowing them to the _Walrus_. It seemed that his focus was entirely on his daughter, but every once in a while, when James was checking their course to the Walrus, he could feel the younger man’s eyes upon him. They reached the _Walrus_ after a few minutes, John smiling at Billy as the behemoth of a man helped him on board.

James watched, fascinated, as various men of different factions on the ship rushed forward, as though to assure themselves that John Silver, a man they had met only briefly, and less than two weeks ago, was, indeed alive.

Muldoon was the first to reach Silver and pull him into a hug.

“We were worried about you,” the shorter man looked down at Sarah. “He didn’t hurt you or her?”

If James had been a pettier man, he might have taken offence at the blatant disrespect shown to him by the members of his crew. As it was, he was just glad that they weren’t trying to rip him limb from limb.

John shook his head.

“I fell into a delirious fever a few hours after I reached shore. Flint found me,” John turned and smiled warily at James. It became much showier as the younger man turned back to face Muldoon. “He took me to a Doctor and took care of Sarah while I recovered.”

James nodded as Muldoon looked at him for confirmation.

Maybe he might not lose this vote after all.

Still better be safe than sorry when it came to Singleton. He gestured for Hal to follow him to his cabin as the shorter man glared at him. After one last look in John’s direction, he entered his cabin and waited for the inevitable verbal onslaught.

“You can’t win this one, James. Even with the cook alive, Singleton will win this.”

“And what do you suggest that I do?”

Hal sighed and walked around James until the two were staring each other in the eyes.

“Singleton will take some time to regroup. I can get your family in the interior to safety somewhere, most likely Savannah or Tortuga. Abigail might be safe with me and Billy, Guthrie will protect her. The cook can choose where he and the baby go.”

“And I don’t make it off this ship.”

“No. Singleton’ll not allow that. I’m sorry.”

James brushed his hand over the inside pocket of his coat, frowning when he felt the roughness of paper tucked away in there.

“It’s okay Hal. I have a plan,” he nodded and pulled his hair back from his face.

James walked past his quartermaster and onto the deck where the sun shined blindingly, and his men glared with murderous intent clearly in their eyes and on their minds.

He didn’t quite catch the words which tumbled out of his own mouth, only knowing that they were good old-fashioned bullshit that’d sway some of the men to his side. He knew that he accused Singleton of the theft of the page, but later the exact wording escaped him.

The fighting, on the other hand, well that was as clear as the sky above them.

Singleton was a brute, skilled with a sword, but generally ignorant of his surroundings.

It didn’t take long before he’s beating the man to death with a cannonball, his skull crushing easily .

Didn’t take long to bullshit the crew either.

Having the page on him made it far easier to appease Billy. The lad didn’t need to learn of his deception against the men, and Hal would understand it.

It was John who worried him. John who stared at him with fear in his eyes as he held Sarah impossibly tighter to his chest. John who backed away from him and went down into the galley even as duty called James to speak with Hal and Billy in his cabin.

His quartermaster was, as to be expected, still furious with him. Billy was much the same.

“Do you think you were being smart, doing that?” Hal’s arms were crossed, and his face stony.

“I think that I was making the best decision for myself and my family,” James glared at the man. “Now, I am going to talk with Richard Guthrie about acquiring some 10-pounder guns, you are going to talk to Mr DeGroot about suitable locations for careening.”

Hal sighed.

“You know Richard will say no. Worse, he might tell someone about this prize before we can take it.”

“When he hears about the cut that he’ll get from this prize, he won’t be in a position to say no.” James looked down at his wrist, the steady back and forth movements of the needlepoint showing him that John was pacing about in the galley.

Hal threw his hands up into the air and turned towards the window.

“Fine. But take Billy with you,” he sighed heavily.

James turned and smiled wolfishly at the man who seemed to be the likeliest candidate for son-in-law that he was ever going to encounter.

“I think I can find a way of working with that.”

Poor Billy looked terrified.

James nodded at Hal before exiting his cabin and walking towards the galley. The crew had not yet thrown Singleton’s body overboard, but save for Morley, and one of the other crew-members, they all seemed happy with the recent turn of events.

The galley was virtually empty, save for Randall, Randall’s pile of potatoes, and John.

James sighed as he saw John pacing worriedly around the limited space. He could not see Sarah, but he suspected that the baby was not far away.

“John,” James held a hand out as the younger man stilled and flinched away from him. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

John’s face cleared in the most unnatural way, and for a fraction of a second, James felt that he was watching a mask be placed upon some performer as the lips spread into a smile, and the eyes became hooded.

“There’s nothing wrong,” John walked forward and laid a hand just above the cut that was still dripping blood onto his shirt. “Let me take care of you.”

James wanted to sigh in frustration, but he knew from his limited experiences with John that would only lead to frustration on his end, and even more fear on John’s. Instead he remained perfectly still until John’s hand fell to take his, much like one of Noonan’s girls might do at the inn. He allowed himself to be led to John’s hammock, and only reacted with a small sigh when he was pushed back onto the stretched piece of fabric.

“Do you know how to dress a wound like this?” James watched John with concern.

John shrugged. “I know many things.” He pulled a bag of long strips of cloth from God-knew-where.

James took his shirt off, not missing the way that John flinched slightly. He placed his hands back by his side and waited for John to approach him before he made even the slightest movement.

John was methodical in the way that he wrapped James’ chest, his large hands completely gentle as he smoothed the bandage out and tied it off.

It was the moment after that which concerned James.

The moment in which John sighed and looked completely terrified as he leant forward.

As far as first kisses went, it wasn’t completely terrible. John was clean and had very little stubble to irritate James’ skin with.

But the way that he trembled, and the way he held himself back? The way his hands shook as they moved down James’ front, and fumbled with the clasp on his belt?

James pulled back and put his hands on John’s shoulders.

“Stop.”

John looked at him with complete horror in his eyes. He tried to move away, but James held him still.

“Stop,” James pulled John forward again slightly. “You don't need to do this.”

He put one hand on John’s cheek and looked him in the eye.

“Now, tell me where Sarah is, so that I can take you and her home.”

John shook his head. He pulled back, moved away from James, and walked back towards the galley.

James had a feeling that this was not the time to follow John, nor enquire further as to the location of Sarah. Instead he walked away from the galley and back towards the deck.

Muldoon was waiting, Sarah wrapped up in her blanket and wriggling in his arms. He smiled as James approached him and held out the baby for James to take.

“Silver wanted me to take her for a bit. I don’t think that she likes me that much.”

James smiled as he took Sarah into his arms. She took one look at him before she yawned, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. He walked back into his cabin, holding one hand up before Hal could start screaming at him again.

“She’s sleeping,” he smiled at Hal, motioning for his quartermaster to walk forward with a jerk of his head. “I don’t think that he can stay on the ship. He won’t be much use to us for a few more days at the very least.”

Hal shrugged, and adjusted James’ hold on Sarah.

“Mr. DeGroot wants to careen. Might take us a week to find a place though-”

James shook his head. “We don’t have that sort of time, the longer we wait, the higher the chance of a ship being sent to escort the galleon. I heard that Avery used to careen here.”

Hal sighed. The portly quartermaster walked away from James towards the desk and sat down on one of the chairs. He nodded for James to sit.

James obeyed.

“When I sailed under Avery, the Island hadn’t suffered several storm seasons and a fucking Spanish Raid. It’s changed since then, beaches we used to use aren’t suitable anymore. Besides, before you can even dream of taking that Galleon, we need to get some ten-pounders, an’ I don’t know where exactly you were dreaming of spiriting those up.”

“We can make the island work,” James frowned as Sarah began to wriggle in discomfort in his arms. “And I’ll have Abigail talk to Eleanor about acquiring the guns.”

Hal sighed and seemed ready to argue with him, probably would have, but for John bursting into the room, breathing heavily.

“You said that you wouldn’t take her!” The younger man walked forward and plucked Sarah from, James’ arms. He retreated in the direction of the door. “You said that you wouldn’t…”

James stood, and slowly approached John, his hands out in a placating gesture.

“She didn’t like being with Muldoon, and I had no idea if you were up to handling her!”

He walked forward until he was able to look down into John’s clear blue eyes. There was genuine fear in his soulmate’s eyes for the second time that day, and James yearned to know why. He averted his gaze to look down at Sarah.

“She’d do well to have a bath, and a change of clothes. Come with me to shore and we can see to her.”

John shook his head, and began to walk in circles.

James turned to face Hal.

“Talk to DeGroot about careening near Nassau.”

He waited for his quartermaster to leave before he began to speak again.

“I thought that we were starting to get along,” he sat on his cot and gestured for John to join him. “What have I done to make you fear for Sarah when I am holding her?”

John remained standing about a foot away.

“I just saw you crush a man’s skull with a cannonball and you have the audacity to ask me why I might fear what you could do to my daughter?” John scoffed. “How do I know that won’t be exactly what happens to me, to her when I cease being of use to you?”

James shrugged.

“Destiny would seem to indicate that you are far too important to me to be considered in mere terms of usefulness.”

John walked forward and sat next to him.

“History would seem to indicate that destiny is a load of shit, and that the world is out to get me.”

“You must believe in it some,” James smiled, “Else why did you decide to get on board a ship travelling through the Caribbean without a military escort?”

John shrugged, his face drawn into a solemn expression.

“I was going to end up in Jamaica, before I twigged onto the fact that you were following me.”

James yearned to know more but knew not to press for it. Instead he stood and offered his hand to John.

“It’ll be better for her if we go ashore to wash her.”

John nodded and allowed himself to be led towards one of the longboats. James smiled as the crew aided John onto the first launch, though his smile faded quickly once he saw their expressions turn cold once they caught sight of him.

He’d try talking to Muldoon later. The man seemed to have all of the riggers and gunners on his side.

James took his seat by John, using one hand to brush some of Sarah’s wispy dark hair away from her forehead as the longboat reached the water and started towards Nassau.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to make you fear for Sarah’s safety, she just seemed to prefer me over Muldoon,” James smiled, leaning slightly into John’s space to smile at Sarah. “We’ll be careening soon, I think it might be a good idea if you learn to cook before then.”

“I don’t want to leave her behind. Not again.”

James frowned at the small amendment to the first sentence. Again he desperately yearned to discover what secrets John had in his past, but didn’t dare ask.

“You won’t be anywhere near the ship, so as long as you can keep her away from the spit, I see no reason why she can’t stay near you.”

“Spit?”

“The easiest thing to cook for the men while the careen the ship would be a pork spit.”

“I don’t know how to cook pork.”

James frowned and shrugged. “I’ll teach you, there’s no reason to fret.”

John shook his head. James watched as the younger man struggled to come up with a lie of a sufficient calibre to avoid cooking a pig on the spit.

“I can’t eat pork while I’m feeding Sarah. It’d have a high chance of making her sick.”

It was a lie, James knew that it was a lie, knew that it was likely presented to him because John Silver, or whatever his real name was, felt too afraid of him to trust him. And yet, he persisted.

“The truth please, Mr. Silver.” He sighed.

He looked into John’s eyes. John looked into his. For a moment the entire world stilled as they tried to wait for the other to break.

John broke first.

“I can’t eat pork. Ever.”

Understanding seeped into James’ mind, the choice of Sarah’s name now meaning so much more than it had before this very moment. Small details about John that had seemed insignificant pooled together, and from them, he saw just a sliver of the true nature of the man sitting next to him.

“If I had known, I would never have let Pastor Lambrick within a mile of you, or her.”

John looked at him in confusion. James smiled softly at him.

“I never wanted to cause you, of all people, any discomfort.”

John smiled and passed Sarah over to James.

“That wasn’t an obvious thing, given that you tried to kill me the first time we met.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his daughter’s forehead. James smiled as he watched John adjust Sarah’s wrappings a little bit before he sat upright again.

“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but could you still cook a pig, if I gave you the proper instructions? Otherwise you’re going to be stuck wringing the necks of many chickens.”

John shrugged. “I’ll find a way to make it work. I won’t be stuck with Randall for the whole day, will I?”

John looked so innocent in the way that he raised his eyebrows in concern that James barely resisted the urge to chuckle. It wouldn’t do for the most feared Captain in the Bahamas to be written of as a love-struck fool. Instead he held Sarah closer to his body, grimacing as she used her tiny hand to slap him on the chest.

John frowned and took her back.

“She normally only does that if she’s hungry,” John held her against his chest, her little head resting on his shoulder, her eyes fixing James with a mighty glare.

“I think that she just missed being held by you,” James brushed some of her dark hair off of her forehead. “It’s very clear that she loves you, trusts you.”

“I nearly left her, when I came to shore,” John whispered harshly, even as his hand came up to support Sarah’s head. “If she trusts me, then I fear that she is a terrible judge of character.”

James frowned. “Why did you think you had to leave her?”

“I knew I had a fever. I knew my chances for survival. I didn’t want her first memories to be of being held by a corpse, surrounded by a miasma of death. It doesn’t matter now. My fever is gone, and she’s very alive and with me. Until she ends up finding out about how I’ve betrayed her.”

James dared to put two fingers under John’s chin and tilted his head towards him. He waited for the striking blue eyes to meet his own before he began to speak.

“A fevered mind is not a rational mind, John.” He removed his fingers from under John’s chin and prepared for the slight bump that would come with landing upon Nassau’s shore. He stood, jumped out of the boat and helped pull the longboat onto the shore.

Once there was no chance of the boat falling back into the sea, he held out a hand for John to take, and brought his soulmate onto the sand.

John still seemed sceptical of James’ words, prompting the elder man to take him gently by the arm and lead him towards his hut.

“John, when you thought that you might leave Sarah, you had a fever that could kill a man twice your size. You had just given birth, you had just seen your shipmates brutalised by the men you now call your brothers. The world was a terrifying, uncertain place. And you still didn’t leave her behind.”

“But I almost did.”

James shook his head, he grinned. “But you didn’t. Does she need to be fed?”

He watched as John prodded her cheek with a finger, to no response.

“I think she’s fine.”

James smiled, he walked over to one of the fresh water barrels with a bowl and scooped out some water. He smiled as John picked up a cloth and began to wipe away the grime on Sarah’s body with an already practiced hand.

Sarah began to gurgle happily, she wouldn’t smile for a few more months yet, but James was glad to see that even at this early stage, she was a contented child. He walked forward with a clean rag, helping John to dry her before she was wrapped in one of Abigail’s childhood blankets.

The two men paused for a moment before they walked once out again into the bright sun of the Nassau day.

James spotted Hal quickly, the portly quartermaster walking up to him with a gleam in his eyes that was a portent of either great things to come, or Benjamin Hornigold falling from the top of the fort. James stepped forward, shielding John from the view of the men on the beach.

“Has DeGroot found a spot?”

Hal nodded. He gestured for Billy, who was idling near the other tents, to walk forward.

“Billy has figured out how to use a beach about three hours sail along the coast, he thinks he knows how to rig the ship on some palm trees to deal with the incline. Says we can start tomorrow.”

“Thanks Hal, now I know that you’re going to ask about the guns and-”

“Richard Guthrie has been arrested. A few days ago, the news only reached the Island today.”

James frowned, all of the breath forced out of him as he tried to process the news.

“And the trading interest?”

“Well, Eleanor’s trying to make it work, but the minute that the last of their ships return to Boston, there’ll be no fence in Nassau for the first time in memory,” Hal sighed. “I hope that you have a plan for the retrieval of the gold without the help of the Guthries.”

James turned from his quartermaster and faced Silver. He took some comfort from the bright blue eyes before he turned back to hell with his wolfish grin.

“I’ll talk to Eleanor. Now Mr. Gates, let us make my ship the fastest fucking thing any of these bastards will ever see.”


	10. We are such stuff as dreams are made on

Miranda was in town with Abigail for the first time since she had been brought to the island on the day that the arrest of Richard Guthrie was announced to the town. She had watched with curious eyes as the now twenty-six-year-old Eleanor Guthrie swore profusely before locking herself in her office.

Miranda allowed herself to take half a minute before she stood, told Abigail to continue with her ledger-work, and walked in the direction of Eleanor’s office. She paid no heed to the noises of anguish that were emanating from within as she opened the door and waited by the entrance for the young woman to calm herself enough to direct her attention to her.

“Get the fuck out!”

“No.” Miranda looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Scott walking up the stairs, a grim expression on his face as he stood beside her.

Eleanor screamed again from her position on the floor, and truly, Miranda wanted to do something to comfort her, but one did not garner a reputation as being a sea witch by acting kindly and providing lost women with a sympathetic ear. No, while she was Lady Flint, while she was in Nassau, she would act without compromise or mercy.

“Get up, Eleanor. Before the whole street sees you making a fool of yourself.”

Mr. Scott cleared his throat. “I have news from what remains of your Father’s ships.”

Eleanor nodded and stood up unsteadily. Miranda watched as the young business woman put herself back together piece by piece, until no-one would have been able to tell that she had been screaming her lungs out not two minute earlier.

“The _Andromache_ has been sighted, heading for the port. It is my understanding that the Captain does not know of the arrest of your father.”

Eleanor nodded. “I have been asked, by Mr. Gates to provide the _Walrus_ with the guns from that ship. With my father’s help, it might have been possible to take them from Bryson, but without him… and then there’s the matter of Max.” Eleanor looked directly at Mr. Scott, Miranda noting the way in which the gaze between the two was very similar to the one between Abigail and James.

Miranda sighed. She would not engage with Captain Bryson, but perhaps the situation with Max could be resolved, with her help.

“Who is Max, and how might I go about repairing the situation between the two of you?”

Eleanor shook her head and began to pace.

Miranda turned to Mr. Scott, her raised eyebrow making it clear that the same question was being asked of him.

“Max is one of Mr. Noonan’s prostitutes, exclusively contracted to Eleanor. She has been missing for the past two days.”

Miranda nodded, a slightly curious look on her face as she tried to parse out what needed to be done. “And you would seek for someone to retrieve your sex-slave from wherever she has gotten to?”

Eleanor turned, her expression like a fiery angel as she began to speak. “It’s not like that, the agreement between us is to protect her. And now she is gone. Because of me, I think.”

Miranda nodded.

“I will make inquiries as to the location of Max and see if she cannot be returned to Mr. Noonan’s safekeeping. If she does not wish to return, I will not force the issue.”

“What makes you think that she will refuse to return to me?” Eleanor’s voice cracked as she spoke, a tear leaking out of one of her blue eyes as she looked at Miranda in pure confusion.

“If you were destined to be together, you would not have to ask someone to locate her for you my dear.” Miranda nodded at Eleanor, then Mr. Scott, then left the room before there was any risk of a heavy paperweight being thrown at her head.

She returned to Abigail’s table, where one of the crewmembers of the Walrus had taken her seat. There was something truly amusing about seeing a man who looked to be about a foot taller than her begin to stutter as he struggled to get away from her daughter.

“Mrs. Flint, ma’am,” the man stuttered before offering his hand. “I’m Billy Bones, bosun on the Walrus.”

“Ah,” Miranda smiled at Abigail, conflicted as she felt both joy and sadness as she saw proof that her daughter was growing up into a fine young lady. “Captain Flint has spoken most highly of you to me. As I understand it you are vital to the running of the ship.”

“Well,” he stuttered, an awkward smile upon his face, “I mean, um-”

“Mr. Bones, do you have any obligations to the ship today?” She smiled sweetly.

“No, ma’am, not till tomorrow, we’re careening you see and-”

“Excellent. I have an errand to run, however, given the state of Nassau at the moment, I’m not entirely comfortable leaving my daughter on her own, and as you are one of my Husband’s crew, you seem the perfect candidate to keep her company.”

“Mother,” Abigail hissed, leaning forward over her books, “I have no need of a chaperone, I’m not a child.” Truly, if looks could kill Miranda would be dead.

“Of course not, my dearest daughter. However, I’m sure that it would be very conducive to your work if you had someone to keep unwanted distractions in the form of other pirates away from your person, and Mr. Bones is free for the time being. Aren’t you Mr. Bones?”

“Um, I wouldn’t want to impose on Miss Abigail.”

Oh, Miranda could have died from the sheer sweetness of the man.

“You wouldn’t,” Abigail reached across her books as though to prevent the behemoth before them from leaving. Miranda bit down on a smile and placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“I won’t be longer than a few hours. If it gets dark, you might ask Mr. Bones to take you home, after all he knows the way.”

Miranda had just enough time to see both Abigail’s and Billy’s faces go red before she walked out of the tavern and towards the beach.

If the vague grumbling of her red-headed husband was to be believed, the street relied too heavily on the Guthries to pose any true threat to the family. They were smart enough to know it. The Pirates too, relied upon the Guthries, but often weren’t smart enough to realise that.

If she were to reflect further on the vague grumblings of her red-headed husband, Eleanor, perhaps as a function of her youth, had a habit of playing court. Crews were in and out of favour, and thus in and out of pocket, depending on her feelings towards them. And if she was to believe her dear James, there was one particular crew who had been in a very sore spot ever since Eleanor stopped fucking their captain long enough to note their brutality.

The walked in the direction of the Ranger crew, completely ignoring the stares that came from the men in seeing a fine-dressed woman with pearls in her hair among them. It would take only a few minutes for someone to recognise her, and then she had no doubt that she would be granted the widest and most respectful of berths.

For all that she had complained to James about the moniker, there was some use in being dubbed as ‘The Sea Witch of Nassau”.

There was still a group of men who seemed oblivious to her presence, all of them huddled about the closed door of one of the more permanent looking huts.

An unpleasant looking bald man was standing at the door, one hand on his hip and one hand on the door.

“Fucking open up, Anne. We know you’ve got the whore in there.”

“Fuck off,” the rough, unmistakable voice of Anne Bonny came from behind the locked door. Miranda could almost imagine the grimace that was sure to be upon the fearsome woman’s face.

Miranda took another few steps forward, waiting until she was absolutely sure that there was no danger of her being mistaken from anyone other than who she was.

“Miss Bonny?” she smirked as the men of the _Ranger_ turned to face her with expressions of clear incredulity. “I am Miranda, Flint’s woman. I’ve been sent by Eleanor Guthrie to check upon the welfare of the woman in there with you. May I come in?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Miranda gestured for the many men the move away and smiled lightly when they obeyed her. They stayed away as the door opened a crack, and she caught a glimpse of brilliant red hair.

“If this is a trick-”

“I promise you that it isn’t, I’m a neutral party, I just want to see that Max hasn’t been harmed.”

The door opened slightly more. Miranda took advantage of the space and entered the dimly lit shack.

She had been expecting to be greeted by a sight that would haunt her for years to come. She had been expecting the sight of a truly brutalised woman, who would be more than likely to die should she be moved.

Instead she was greeted with the sight of a dark-skinned woman she presumed to be Max, dressed as fully as a whore in Mr. Noonan’s employ could ever expect to be. There were no bruises upon her face, and if Miranda wasn’t mistaken, she had a honey cake in her hands.

Anne Bonny was not nearly as fearsome as Miranda had been led to expect. Or maybe she was, but the expression of tender protectiveness, of what might one day develop into love, belied her harsh features.

Miranda closed the door behind her and knelt in front of Max.

“Miss Guthrie informs me that you’ve been missing for two days,” Miranda eyed the honey-cake jealously. “She tells me that she believes that your abduction was a reprisal against her. However, upon seeing you, I find this a hard story to be asked to believe. Maybe you could explain it to me.”

To her surprise, it was Anne who spoke once Miranda finished.

“After I let your man’s thief go, the men wanted blood. Jack tried to spin them a tale about waiting it out until the Guthrie cunt gave up her sour mood. So they decided to try to steal Max to make her sour mood go away.”

“That doesn’t seem to be the smartest plan, if you were to ask me.”

“I don’t think none of my brothers under the black could be accused of being smart.”

Miranda turned back to Max, smiling genuinely now that she knew the girl wasn’t in any danger of being harmed. “Who took you Max?”

“Miss Bonny.”

Miranda turned to Anne once again. “Why haven’t you hurt her, if you went along with the plan of the men on your crew?”

Anne shrugged, and began to pull on her right sleeve. After a few seconds, a dark black compass was revealed upon the light skin of Anne’s underarm. The red-head looked at Miranda with an expression that she herself had displayed when she’d first set sight on Thomas, and then again on James.

“I couldn’t let them hurt her. I couldn’t. Always knew she was on this fucking island, knew she was in the brothel, but I didn’t check, cause I figured she was safe there. Figured she was protected there. And then they send me to snatch Eleanor Guthrie’s favourite, and she turns out to be mine.”

Anne turned back to Max, looking almost embarrassed at the display of emotion that she’d just shown to her soulmate.

Miranda sighed and stood up. She dusted off the fine red fabric of her favourite town-dress before she addressed Max again, trying her best to convey that she wanted the girl to be honest, that she wanted the girl to know there’d be no reprisals against her if she complained of her present situation or company.

“Are you content to remain here? With Miss Bonny?”

Max nodded, and to Miranda’s relief, sidled a little closer to Anne. The brunette wrapped her arm around Anne’s and smiled softly, with just a hint of teeth.

“How could I be anything else when I have found someone so loyal to me and my safety?”

“I only have one question left to you. If you’ve been here for two days, who the hell has been feeding you?”

Anne laughed softly, she crawled over to a part of the shack where several sacks obscured the floor, then moved them aside to reveal a trap-door.

“Hurts his pride a little, but Jack’s still skinny enough to fit under here. Said he’d bring us food for as long as we need to stay here.”

“You haven’t thought of leaving by the same way?”

Anne shook her head. “Ain’t got no-where to go outside the camp, ‘sides, I reckon once he hears that your man knows what he wants to do to Max, he might make himself scarce. Captain would’ve said something if he were here.”

Miranda frowned. “Charles Vane is no longer upon the Island?”

Anne shook her head. “He took one look at Hamund’s group and said he needed stronger men for whatever he was planning. Left most of the men on the beach and the ship in the bay, and now with the Guthries losing the fence, they’re ready for a fight.”

Miranda caught Anne’s eye and nodded.

“I will inform Miss Guthrie that Max is safe, and in the hands of someone who is inherently interested in her wellbeing.”

Max seemed surprised. “You will not take me away? You will not force me to leave?”

Miranda shook her head and smiled softly as she reached out to open the door. “No.”

She opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight of Nassau, smiling when she saw that all the men, bar one who she strongly suspected to be Jack Rackham, had left.

“Is Anne still in there?” he frowned, his ridiculous glasses not apparently doing much to keep the glare out of his eyes. “With the whore, I mean?”

Miranda sighed. “You may wish to change the terms of address that you use with Max, Mr. Rackham, I have a feeling that her time with you shall be longer than you might think.” She began to walk towards the street. “I understand that your Captain is no longer on the Island, and has left your crew?”

“It is a temporary absence, I assure you, one which has been taken for the most strategic of purposes, Madam.”

Miranda smiled. She stopped and turned to face the man. “If you do find that the absence is less temporary than you thought it might be, I’m sure my husband would be most happy to aid you in ensuring that your crew does not rest idle.”

Jack snorted. “So, your Captain found the thief then? Noonan’s doctor said that he might be dead before anyone reached him. I take it the newborn has been taken care of?”

Miranda smiled as she saw the genuine concern on the face of one of the most wanted men in the Bahamas. It would never cease to amaze her that while these very men would happily sink a ship full of innocent souls, they became squeamish the minute that the welfare of a child was brought into it.

“The newborn, or as she is known now, Sarah, resides with my family Mr. Rackham, and her father works upon my husband’s crew. You have no need to worry, I reserve anointing men with the blood of slaughtered infants for special occasions.”

She grinned and then headed back in the direction of the tavern.

She was interrupted in her trek by the sight of James, John, and the Walrus’ quartermaster walking in the direction of the tavern. All three stopped when they saw her, Gates nodding respectfully while John fiddled with Sarah’s blanket and James stepped forward to address her.

“You will have heard about the fence, I take it?”

Miranda nodded and placed a hand on James’ chest. “Unfortunately, yes. Abigail is still working on the books, so I don’t believe that Miss Guthrie is taking this as a sign of complete defeat.”

James shrugged. “If she manages it, I won’t be surprised. What were you doing on the beach?”

Miranda smiled, “The other perpetually angry ginger on the Island has found her soulmate.”

James huffed out a laugh. He leant forward and kissed other on the forehead before turning to John and Gates and gesturing for them to resume walking with him to the tavern.

He offered his arm to Miranda. She took it with a happy smile.

“I didn’t miss the bandage under your ruined shirt, in case you thought you could get that by me,” she snuck a look at James’ chest, smiling when she saw the neat arrangement of the wrappings. “Did you want to tell me how the wound was incurred?”

James shrugged. “A man tried to take my captaincy, I prevented it from happening. Mr. Silver helped me deal with the minor injuries that were a result of it.”

Miranda huffed out a sigh of frustration. She looked over her shoulder, frowning when she saw John deliberately avoid her gaze. She would talk to him later, try to convince him that she wasn’t actually a witch hell-bent on murdering his child. Foer now she contented herself on sneaking a glimpse of James’ face when he saw Billy sitting with Abigail.

They reached her daughter just as Billy stroked a wisp of her hair behind her ear.

Miranda truly wished that she had some method by which to capture that moment for eternity. She’d never seen a man quite so large as Billy look quite so contrite as the behemoth of a man struggled to extricate himself from the table, nearly falling over himself as he did so.

“Captain,” Billy coughed awkwardly, “Did Mr. Gates tell you about the plan for careening?”

James walked forward and looked up at Billy. Miranda couldn’t quite see his eyes, but she was quite sure that he was doing his best to look terrifying.

“Yeah.”

Miranda winced. She walked over to Abigail, who seemed to be doing her best to hide her face with a propped-up ledger.

“Has Eleanor told you her plans for the future?” she sat next to Abigail, electing to face her daughter properly instead of focussing on James and Billy. “I would hate for you to lose your job when you seem so competent in it.”

Abigail looked at her disbelievingly.

“Father might stab Billy, in front of all the patrons of this soon to be closed tavern, and you want to know if I’ve had any pleasant little chats with Eleanor.”

Miranda smiled. “I’m merely asking if you know what she’s planning to keep the fence on Nassau, I highly doubt that such a forceful young woman would content herself to the life of a disgraced relative in Boston.” She looked over at Abigail’s leger. “If this is the end of her operation, I promise you that we’ll find another place in Nassau. I wouldn’t like to confine you to a life spent at home when you have taken such an interest in the people here.”

Abigail sighed. “Please don’t start this again.”

“Are you saying that you could be content living a solitary life in the interior?”

“You’ve managed.”

Miranda sighed. “Every time that I visit this place, I find that I grow more discontent with the idea of returning. Especially with Thomas recovering so well. You no longer need someone to supervise you. Maybe I would do well to explore the possibilities of Nassau a little more.”

Abigail hummed disbelievingly and returned to her work.

It was only a few moments later that James, apparently satisfied with the quality of the poor bosun who chose to spend his time with Abigail, turned back to face her.

“I take it Miss Guthrie isn’t seeing anyone today.”

Miranda shook her head, “No, she’s not in the right state of mind for that.”

He grunted softly, then looked her directly in the eye. “We should go then. Has Abigail finished her work for the day?”

“No.”

Both James and Miranda turned to face her, each of them looking a little surprised as she stood from behind the desk.

“If the business is to be liquidated, then the books need to be done so we can figure out how much we owe our creditors. If Eleanor is to start a new venture, then we need to know the same to tell our investors. I simply cannot return home at this point in time. There is far too much to be done”

Miranda sighed. “What would you suggest then, instead of you making a return?”

Abigail shrugged. “There is a perfectly serviceable shack on the beach. I’ve noticed that there is bedding there, and a desk. I can work and sleep there.”

James shook his head and stepped forward. “Abigail-”

“There’s no reason to be concerned for my safety, if that is the cause of your objections. That hut is surrounded by the tents of your crew, and I am well known to Mr. Gates and Mr. Bones. If someone were to try to hurt me, then they would have to face not only you, but them as well.”

James smiled.

“You sound like your Papa when you talk like that.”

“He did teach me how to argue.”

“I thought I taught you how to argue.” He leant forward slightly and kissed the top of Abigail’s head.

“You taught me how to hit things until they no longer could argue,” Abigail turned to Mr. Bones and offered him her arm. “Billy, I understand that you will be staying on the beach?”

Billy blushed, looking wonderfully terrified as his gaze flitted over to James. Miranda ducked her head to avoid giving away the large grin that was forming on her face, only seeing Billy’s feet as he steeped forwards and presumably took Abigail’s arm. The former Lady Hamilton waited until she heard Abigail and Billy depart before she dared to look up. She smiled at James.

“You mustn’t hurt him James. This is far too amusing.”

“She’s not eighteen Miranda. You can’t tell me that you’re encouraging this.”

“James, however serious her feelings may seem now, I can almost guarantee that by this time next month whatever attraction she may have towards your crewman will have faded.”

Miranda shrugged and turned to Mr. Gates nodding her head respectfully as she spoke to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Gates, please try to make sure that Abigail gets some sleep tonight.”

The quartermaster smiled, nodded to James, and walked in the direction of the beach. James laced his fingers with Miranda’s, and the two began to walk in the direction of the horse and cart.

“How is Mr. Silver today?”

“He seems well enough to careen with me tomorrow. I think that the hunt for the Urca treasure might be more stressful than either of them could handle though.”

“I fear that Mr. Silver doesn’t have enough trust in me or Thomas to be left in our care for any length of time. It’s at least a two week journey to Florida, and then more than two weeks back if you are laden with gold. A month might be asking too much of Mr. Silver.”

“I think that he’ll be able to bear it, he’s fond of Abigail, after all.” James stopped talking as they neared the cart, holding out his hand to Miranda so that she could leverage herself up onto the seat.

“Where is Mr. Silver?”

John nodded to the back of the cart, and Miranda could not deny the wave of fondness that overcame her as she saw John asleep on the back of the cart with Sarah sleeping against his chest.

“Attempted mutiny, I think that the excitement might have worn him out,” James leaned backwards and adjusted the blanket that covered John so that he was better protected against the cool evening breeze.

“It seems that he might be on the way to trusting you,” Miranda smiled.

James sighed and looked at her. ”I realise that I’ve told Thomas, but not you, that there is nothing which could possibly change the love I feel for you. You may well be the only woman that I’ve ever loved, and I never could cast you aside.”

Miranda blushed at the girlish squeak which escaped her as she turned to smile at James.

“Thank you, Love. But you must know I have known that to be true since the first time I laid with you.”

James grinned and for a second she was transported back, before all of this had begun, to the smiling Lieutenant she had had her way with in the Hamilton Carriage in London.

“Maybe so, but I find that there’s never any danger in stating such a sentiment more than once.”

The continued to flirt shamelessly as the cart made its way to the interior of the Island.


	11. Madness in great ones must not unwatched go

Thomas Hamilton was not, as many claimed, the sort of man who would ever be called weak-minded or frail. Rather he was a man who refrained from involving himself in the affairs of others unless he found extraordinarily good reasons to do so.

That he found himself sitting with Hal Gates across from Jack Rackham was an indication of his devotion to his husband, and his husband’s continued success on New Providence Island.

Jack Rackham didn’t quite seem so convinced as to Thomas’ ability to negotiate.

“You know, word on the beach is that you are an invalid, confined to his bed on most days. How do I know that you have the capacity to speak on Captain Flint’s behalf?”

Thomas shrugged and pulled out a piece of paper he had prepared the night before.

“I’ve written up a contract, Mr. Rackham, which outlines the proposed division of goods between out two crews. If you don’t trust my competency, perhaps you might trust it.”

He handed over the paper, smiling as he saw Rackham’s eyes widen at the exhaustive detail of it. The Quartermaster of the _Ranger_ soon recovered himself, and began to survey the document properly, his thin mouth twisting in a grimace when he came across details that he didn’t like.

“I see here that you’re limiting the share per man to 1000 dollars, with any excess to be put into a fund for,” he cleared his throat as he squinted over the particular wording, “an injury and funeral fund for both crews, as well as a reserve for the betterment of Nassau.”

“Is there an issue with that?” Thomas’ lips quirked despite his attempts to keep a straight face as he saw the cogs turning in Mr. Rackham’s mind.

“At best, there are two-hundred and fifty men between the two crews, meaning that by my best estimation, you mean to take 95 percent of our hard-earned money and keep it. I don’t know what for, but surely you can’t expect me to be content with those terms.”

“Captain Flint thought that it might be prudent to see what sort of man you were, Mr. Rackham,” Thomas took back the piece of paper and added a zero beside the share price. “How do you feel about 50 percent of the loot going towards an injury and funeral fund and a fund towards the betterment of Nassau?”

Mr. Rackham smiled. “Twenty percent to the injury fund, to be used by both crews, divided between them based on the volume of the crews. Thirty percent to the betterment of Nassau, whatever the fuck that is.”

“We’re in agreement then?”

Mr. Rackham smiled and nodded at him, leaning back when Thomas offered him his hand.

“There are still a few things I would like to discuss regarding the division of unique items, if you don’t mind?”

Thomas chuckled and nodded, relaxing back into his seat as he waited for Rackham to begin his negotiations.

* * *

The Caribbean sun was beating down on Nassau town when Thomas finished his negotiation with Rackham. After the quartermaster of the _Ranger_ departed from Miss Guthrie’s tavern, Thomas walked out of the upstairs office and onto the balcony.

Eleanor was waiting for him, her eyes fixed in the direction of the bay.

“How do you find the strength to let him go out on the account?” She frowned as she spoke, her head tilting to the side as she took a deep breath.

Thomas sat next to her, smiling as he caught sight of Abigail walking through the street with Miranda.

“There is something of the sea about him. To ask him to leave it behind would be like asking him to cut out a part of his own heart.” Thomas turned to her and offered the young fence his hand. “You know that it would be the same for you and Vane, even if your relationship is more tumultuous than mine.”

“Max is gone,” Eleanor sighed. “She said she was troubled by Flint’s treatment of the thief, worried that if one of my closest associates could act so harshly towards his soulmate, then I might act horribly towards one who isn’t mine.”

“Did you tell her that the thief was safe?”

“This was before the mutiny. I’ve heard that since then she’s moved permanently to be with Miss Bonny, of the _Ranger_.”

“You might not lay together anymore, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t extend your hand in friendship. Maybe if you make yourself know to her, share your knowledge of what has happened to John and Sarah since she last saw them, she might think more kindly of you.”

Eleanor shrugged.

“Why does everyone seem intent on leaving?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve managed to convince Bryson to stay on the Island an additional day, but I doubt that he will give me the guns of his own volition. Mr. Scott does not approve of me trying to take them by force to the extent that he threatens to leave me to my own devices.”

“What are you planning to do then?”

Eleanor picked up a tankard of foul-smelling rum, downed the entire contents and then stood. She turned to Thomas and shrugged.

“As I understand it, your husband is careening on the far side of the island. I’d discuss my options with him there. Would you like to accompany me? I have a spare horse.”

Thomas nodded and followed her out of the tavern and towards her stables. He struggled to restrain his glee as he took off after Eleanor in the direction of one of the many coves of the island, knowing that he’d be granted the rare pleasure of seeing his husband at work once they reached the _Walrus_.

He was only slightly disappointed when they arrived close to an hour later. While it was true that there were many attractive men wearing very little waltzing around the beach, his husband was fully clothed and sitting under the shade of a tent, one hand focussing on a navigational chart, the other holding baby Sarah.

Thomas followed Eleanor at a safe distance, waiting for the admirably tempestuous blonde to finish her discussion with James before he walked under the cover of the tent and sat opposite his husband.

“What are you going to do about Bryson?” Thomas frowned as James seemed to repress a flinch.

“I’m going to get his guns, by force if necessary, and use them in the pursuit of the Urca.”

“James,” Thomas sighed and waited for his husband to look him in the eyes before he continued. “If you’re going to get into a fight, can you at least be honest with me?”

“I don’t want you to worry, I don’t want Miranda to worry. I don’t plan to get into a fight, if all goes well, then Eleanor’s people will be able to take the guns with minimal effort, and I won’t be forced to do anything which could cause me or my men any harm.”

Thomas nodded and leant forward, careful not to brush against any of the navigational charts as he smiled at his husband. “I don’t think that I’ve seen so many well maintained torsos ever before in my life,” he laughed softly as he saw James’ eyes flicker over to him. “I have to say, I admire your restraint.”

James breathed out a laugh, putting down his compass as he reached forward and took Thomas’ hand. The former Lord Hamilton shuddered as he felt the rough calluses brush over his knuckles.

“Why would I settle for a dirty pirate with little care for personal hygiene when I have an Adonis waiting for me at home?”

Thomas leant backwards slightly as he heard footsteps approaching. He turned around to see Silver holding a clay pot of spices and smiled as the man slowed to a stop just on the edge of the tent.

“What do you need, Mr. Silver?” James’ voice was surprisingly soft as he stood and brought Sarah over to the cook for inspection.

John’s eyes flickered over Thomas, the faint trace of fear in his clear blue eyes enough to make Thomas look away for a moment.

“I think it’s ready, I’ve done everything you told me.”

“Ask Randall to help serve the food to the men, he still has mind enough about him to be able to tell if it’s undercooked. You can take your meal in here.”

There was a heavy silence in the air, Thomas turning to look at John only too see that strange fear reflected once again in the younger man’s eyes as they flickered between him and James.

James sighed and returned to sit behind the desk. “There’s ample fruit and cheese for you to eat if you’re worried about the richness of the pork.”

John sighed in relief, turned, and left.

Thomas looked to James, his confusion plain on his face.

“Have I done something to offend him an a past life? It just seems to me that the fear he holds for me hasn’t been entirely justified by my own actions towards him.”

James shrugged, standing once again as Sarah began to stir in his arms. “There are things in his past, things inherent to him which are not mine to share. Maybe you, as he perceives you, represent something that has done its best to kill him over and over again.”

Thomas stood and walked over to James, smiling at Sarah when her curious blue eyes opened and focussed upon James.

“She might grow to like me at least,” Thomas turned to look at James. “Did you know that Sarah means princess in Hebrew? Surprisingly it hasn’t been mangled by the passage of time, nor its adoption by various languages.”

“She certainly has a regal air about her, even when she spits up milk on my shirt.” James moved her in his arms so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and began to walk happily around the tent. “He will get used to you, I’m sure. How did the negotiations with Rackham go?”

“He’s a good man, or at least one who believes in fiscal responsibility to his crew. He’ll happily consort with us, especially now that Vane is off the island.”

James harrumphed in the way that made Thomas smile uncontrollably. The slightly taller man opened his mouth only to hear the sound of wood creaking followed by painful screaming.

Thomas barely had any time to register what was happening before he found himself holding Sarah and saw James running out of the tent and in the direction of the _Walrus_.

Thomas followed as he always did. Slowly, and with great caution. He adjusted his hold on Sarah, unfamiliar with the proper way of carrying a baby, and thus settling on holding her so that he could see her face, and so that his elbow supported her head.

He walked until he was stopped by one of the tallest men he had ever seen, a man who would have likely had a few inches on him even when he had been at his prime in London.

“It’s not safe to go past here. Specially not with her.”

Thomas nodded and adjusted Sarah so that she would be more comfortable in his arms before turning to the giant. “What happened?”

The giant sighed. “Two fuckwits tied the support rope to the wrong tree. Support beams have given way.”

“And the screaming?” Thomas frowned as he surveyed the crowd and found both John and James to be absent from it. “Who’s screaming?”

“The cook got trapped, Flint and Mr. Morely are trying to fix it.”

All the blood rushed from Thomas’ face as he thought of John being trapped underneath the behemoth structure of the _Walrus_. There was no way that the young man would escape unscathed, and so soon after the arduous recovery process that had followed his arrival to their house.

He wanted to rush forward, to find James, maybe to offer comfort to Silver as they found a way to rescue him. But even on today, a day where his mind was fully accessible to him and he had nearly full control of his movement, he could feel the old familiar aches seeping into his back, and he could already predict what might happen if he dared to interfere with James’ efforts now.

So he stood and rocked Sarah back and forth in his arms, closing his eyes against the outside world as he listened to the men hacking at the support ropes, and the sound of his husband’s beloved ship groaning against the restraints which held it at the perfect angle for careening.

All that he could feel was the tiny bundle of warmth in his arms. He listened to her shaky breaths, felt the small vibrations that ran through her body and into his arms as she gurgled confusedly at all the confusion around her.

“It will be alright little one,” he whispered softly, well below the volume where anyone else might have heard. “Whatever happens today, you will be taken care of, and loved and raised as a princess.”

“What the fuck?”

Thomas opened his eyes to see a very confused John Silver looking at him with something approaching anger in his eyes. Thomas, perplexed about Silver’s seeming wholeness, held out Sarah for the shorter man to take, letting out a sigh of relief when he felt her surprisingly heavy body lifted out of his arms.

“I thought that you were trapped?” He smiled, his hand coming up to trace over John’s chin of its own volition. He let his hand fall after a few seconds, but the feeling of immense relief did not abate.

John shook his head. “It was Randall, he was looking for the cat.” He looked down at Sarah, the confusion fading away as an expression of unconditional love came across his face. “James and Billy have him now.”

The panic flooded into Thomas once more, realising that James was still hidden from him by the immense form of the ship. He took a step forward, compelling his tired eyes to search for his fiery husband.

A few moments later, he saw the faintest hint of movement, coming from behind the ship. He strained his eyes as he watched two hazy figures solidify into two men, eventually focusing into an old, haggard, recent amputee and his James.

Thomas ran forward, ignoring the giant’s protests as he pushed past him and ran to James’ side.

As far as he could see, his husband was unharmed, the bright red blood on his face from the other crewman’s leg, rather than any injury of his own. Much as Thomas wished to embrace his husband, to kiss him gently on the lips, and not so gently on other parts of his body, he could see that it was not the time, and so instead he pulled the free arm of the crewman over his shoulder, and helped James walk him in the direction of Howell and the other crew members.

He waited until the giant had relieved them of the injured crewman and James had led him back to the tent before he began to speak.

“Let me hold you?”

James nodded and moved forward, the top of his head fitting under Thomas’ chin as the taller man rocked side to side in a soothing manner. Thomas sighed heavily, his arms wrapping tightly around James’ torso until he could feel the redhead’s heartbeat under his palms.

“It’s easy to forget, from where I stay in the interior, that the life of a pirate is a dangerous one, even when the Navy is no-where in sight.”

“If I promise you that I’m not in any immediate danger, that you don’t need to worry about any danger which might face me in my life, would that make returning easier?”

“No, especially not when the bandage on your chest says otherwise,” Thomas released James just enough to be able to look him in the eyes, “I fear that whatever use the interior might have been to me at one point in my life, well, I fear that its usefulness has come to an end.”

James smiled, the points of his meticulously kept moustache twitching as he leant forward and kissed Thomas on the mouth.

“The hut can be extended into a home, I suppose, if you give me some time.”

Thomas sighed as James’ rough hands traced down his sides and came to clasp at his own, much paler and delicate appendages. He closed his eyes, allowing his body to catch up with the fact that James was well, James was alive, James was unhurt.

“I’ll come back.”

Thomas turned to see John Silver staring suspiciously at the two of them while they embraced. He slowly disentangled himself from James and stepped back, walking backwards until he could safely drop down onto James’ seat.

“Stay,” James walked forwards, extending a hand out to John and guiding him into the shade offered by the tent. While Thomas couldn’t see James’ face, he expected that his husband was smiling softly, an expression rarely seen outside of the Barlow household.

“I need to feed her soon,” John’s bright blue eyes flickered over to Thomas’ and the former lord couldn’t help but frown at what the younger man must have gone through to be so afraid and so mistrustful of those around him.

Thomas had endured his share of horrors, but even in Bedlam, he had been able to cling onto the knowledge that there had been two people in the world who loved him more than anything.

John Silver, it seemed, hadn’t ever had that, and now after years of abuse and neglect, might never quite regain the most God-given ability to trust another person.

He was brought out of his musings by James glancing over his shoulder, the frown on his copper-haired angel’s face clearly showing that it was time for the two of them to leave Mr. Silver to his own devices.

Thomas stood, nodding at John Silver as he started to follow James out of the tent. He paused once he was closer to John, looking at the much shorter man as he tried to think of what the done thing was to say to the man who would soon become his own husband’s lover.

“For what it’s worth, Mr. Silver,” he started, smiling slightly at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, “I’m extraordinarily happy that you weren’t crushed under the _Walrus_.” He nodded at John before he followed James out onto the beach.

James turned to him with an exasperated look on his face.

“Your aggressive flirting might have worked with me, my love, but I think a more subtle approach is to be employed with John.”

“What makes you think that I’m trying to flirt with the man?” Thomas lip’s quirked up, his eyebrows raised playfully as he reached once again for James, this time focussing on his husband’s delightful pectoral muscles as his fingers traced over their outlines. “Maybe I’m just being friendly.”

James huffed out a laugh. “Thomas, he’s enigmatic, he’s undeniably handsome, and he doesn’t like you very much. That is the very definition of your favourite type of man. As I said before, he has more than enough reasons not to like you, especially not while he still believes that you and Miranda are going to take his child away from him.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and took a step backwards. “I will do my best not to alarm him, but there are only so many times that I can tell the man that I don’t wish to steal his daughter from him and raise her as a hypocritical puritan.”

He walked away from James, wandering towards the point where the Caribbean Sea met the sandy shore. He pulled off his shoes with little difficulty, his socks following them to rest atop the sand as he started to walk forward and into the waves.

Nine years ago, he would have struggled to even approach the water, the memories of the ice-baths of Bedlam too much for him to be able to handle.

He took it as no small accomplishment that he could wade a bit further forward than he normally might have done before, until the water came up to his knees, and he could feel the water brushing against his fingertips when there was a particularly strong wave.

He might have walked further forwards, were it not for a calloused hand on his arm and a warm northern accent at his back.

“It might not be wise to go any further, Mr. Barlow.”

Thomas turned to see Mr. Gates standing behind him, his moustache as atrocious as it had been when he’d first met the man during his rescue from his father. The man looked a little greyer, maybe a bit plumper, but definitely no less keen of mind than he had been then.

“Don’t worry Hal, there’s no risk of me wandering too far and being taken by a current. Did you need to speak with me?”

Hal joined him in the water, a smile on the much older man’s face.

“I’m not sure how much your husband has told you, but I think that your daughter might be developing feelings for my Billy.”

Thomas smiled, nodding as he though back to his daughter’s outburst at dinner a few night’s before. “I didn’t know that it was your Billy, but yes, I did know that there was a crewmember she felt to be… appealing. I assume there’s more that you want to talk about than that?”

“Billy is twenty-six years old, Abigail not even eighteen. I worry that while she may find him appealing, the gap in their ages, in their experiences… Well, I fear that they might make a relationship-”

“Inappropriate, I know,” Thomas frowned, feeling his brow furrow as he tried to think of the ways in which he could gently dissuade his daughter from a course of action that she might regret. “I will speak to her when I see her next.”

“Thank you.” The quartermaster turned to go.

“Did Billy come to you with this request?” Thomas watched as Hal looked over his shoulder to face him, the frown on his face barely visible on his face underneath the horrific facial hair.

“My Billy, I think that there’s something different about him, in the way he feels or doesn’t feel for others. He’d probably hate me for telling you this, especially if it might hurt Abigail, but I think that the way she looked at him, the possibilities that she might have envisioned for him, well I don’t think he was all that comfortable with them.”

Thomas nodded. “I understand. I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think it was a particularly permanent state of mind.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barlow.”

Thomas stayed out in the water for a few more hours, revelling in the feel of the water on his toes until the sun was beginning to set and he felt James’ familiar hands on his arm.

“It’s time to go home my love,” the lateness of the hour stripped any pretence of the Anglo-Saxon from James’ voice, a broad Cornish lilt sneaking into his voice as he led Thomas out of the water.

“I fear we must break Abigail’s heart when we see her next.”

James smiled wryly and nodded in agreement. He guided Thomas towards a cart upon which John was already sitting and offered his arm to help him up onto the back.

“I could help you drive,” Thomas began to protest sleepily.

James looked back at him from where he was sitting with the reins in his hand, a fond smile on his face.

“You can’t even keep yourself upright love. Go to sleep, and I’ll wake you when we reach home.”

Never one to disappoint the love of his life, Thomas did exactly that.


	12. The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream

James was finding more and more that he hated to be away from the Island. For the desolate few months where it had been only him and Miranda, it had been almost natural to take to the sea, the one entity on the planet which matched him in rage and turmoil.

When Thomas had been returned to him, and Abigail given to them, the sea had lost some of its appeal. He had let some of his anger go, while the ocean retained her fury, as was proven every single time that he tried to coax the Walrus over her tumultuous waters.

And now, with the possibility of John, the chance to raise Sarah, he wasn’t sure that he’d ever be persuaded from the comfort of his home again.

He knew John to be skittish around Thomas and Miranda and would not blame him for it.

But given time, given the protection that the Urca gold might afford Nassau, he could think of no better way of spending his time than slowly learning the secrets of John Silver, a pursuit which might take up the rest of his natural life.

However, in this case, he was called to the sea, for that was where the _Andromache_ was heading despite the orders of Eleanor Guthrie. John was still asleep, having positioned himself in the spare bed near the kitchen with Sarah, and there was no time to wake him.

James settled for kneeling next to Sarah’s cradle and brushing the wispy dark hair on her head into a curl.

“I have to go,” he smiled as she grabbed onto his thumb and held it as strongly as she was able, “I’m relying on you to keep your father safe. It’s a very serious charge.”

He leant forward and kissed her on the forehead, doing the same to John once he had stood.

“I will come back for you, John, and I will make everything right. I promise you.”

He left the house shortly after, taking Bucephalus the black stallion into Nassau town.

James was pleasantly surprised to see that the men of the _Walrus_ had transported all of the necessary supplies over to the ship and were now in the process of getting aboard themselves. A voice which sounded suspiciously like Miranda whispered in the back of his head that maybe he should be kinder to them, and thus avert any future mutinies he might face.

He’d take it under advisement.

Hal was waiting for him in one of the long boats, his demeanour demanding as he gestured for James to follow him onto the longboat.

“I’m not saying it would have been quicker if you’d stayed, but I don’t understand why you insisted on going back to the interior and leaving the cook there.

James shrugged, deciding Muldoon, Logan and Joshua were unlikely to take issue with his relationship with Silver.

“He won’t be separated from Sarah, and this isn’t the place for a baby. If worst comes to worst, we can all take shifts cooking.”

Muldoon smiled confusedly, looking at James in a manner he’d never done before.

“He’s staying in the interior?”

James nodded, holding up a hand to pause the conversation as he saw Billy approach.

“Mr. Bones! You’ll not be accompanying us on this trip.”

Billy froze, looking uniquely offended and confused.

“Are we not to chase the _Andromache_?”

James shook his head.

“We are, but you’ll not be coming with us. I require someone who I can trust to see to the safety of my daughter. Of all the men on the ship, you are the one I know, deep in my heart of hearts, to be suited to this task.” He smiled charmingly, hoping that would be enough for Billy.

Instead of looking honoured, Billy looked mildly concerned. His brow was crinkled, and he was looking at Gates as though the portly quartermaster had the answers to all the questions in life.

James sighed and thought back to his earlier conversation with Thomas.

“She has been informed of the lack of reciprocation for any feelings that she might have had, Mr. Bones,” he lied, it was not as though it mattered, Abigail could be such a painfully shy creature around others that there was little chance of the matter coming to a head before he returned. “And will not begrudge you for it.”

Billy nodded, taking a few steps away from the water before he turned back to James. “I won’t let anything happen to her, Captain.”

James nodded and smiled, nodding for Logan and Muldoon to start paddling. The shorter and balder of the two men started to speak just as they reached the point where it would be too difficult to swim back.

“I’ve heard Silver’s soulmate is in Nassau.”

James quirked his lips in a small smile. In truth it would not hurt for the men to see a softer side of him, and while Muldoon seemed to back him quite firmly, there were others who definitely didn’t who might be swayed to his side with a story of romance.

“Silver’s soulmate is aboard this longboat.” James waited for realisation to dawn on the other men’s faces. “You need not worry that he and his daughter will be well taken care of.”

“So all that talk of killing him?” Muldoon frowned.

“A misunderstanding now happily resolved.”

“And your witch? Your Demon?” Logan spoke automatically, then immediately looked as though he regretted it. “I mean-”

“Mr and Mrs Barlow, Mr. Silver and I are working together to find a good solution.” He sighed and turned to Hal. “How much of a lead does she have on us?”

“No more than six hours, but Bryson by all accounts is a difficult bastard, and well aware of how to best avoid pirates. It’ll be difficult.”

“But not impossible.” James had to believe that it was achievable, that they could get the guns, that they could win this small battle, as though it were a minor obstacle easily cleared away in the grand scheme of things. He needed to believe that, because he knew if he didn’t the sheer enormity of what he was trying to do would very likely overpower him, just as Caribbean waves could easily wash a novice sailor overboard.

Hal nodded and the boat remained silent until they reached _The Walrus_. It was when they were on deck that the quartermaster fixed him with a serious look and nodded to the cabin. He waited by the door while Hal paced, undoubtedly this interlude would not be relaxed enough to recline.

“Why is my son being left on the beach?” Hal was quiet, but the tone was dangerous.

James sighed.

“I suspect for the same reason that my daughter is. This is a short enough voyage that we can do without a bosun, and Nassau volatile enough that I can justify his presence here.”

Hal turned to him.

“The whole point of being a pirate is to avoid situations where you can spare people due to favouritism! You have narrowly avoided one mutiny, and now you will do nothing to prevent a second.”

James let out a frustrated noise.

“I am using our most intimidating man to protect our interests in Nassau. Make the crew understand that and I will get us Bryson’s guns.”

On seeing that Hal wasn’t likely to leave the cabin James walked past him towards the helm. He trusted Mr. Degroot of course, but there were times that he needed to feel the Walrus’s progress through the water, her resistance to the waves which buffeted her. This was one such time.

Mr. DeGroot, who seemed to still be surly despite the news of John and Sarah’s continued survival, moved aside easily.

“I’ll be fine, Mr. DeGroot, I’ll call for you when my time is up. For now I would suggest you take your rest, we’ll need you when we reach the Andromache.”

DeGroot left without a word of protest.

James stood there for another four hours, guiding his ship through the waves towards their prey. It was only when DeGroot returned that he walked back into his cabin, collapsing on the swinging cot with a sigh of relief.

It would only be a temporary respite, but it was pleasant enough for now.

_He was in his house on Nassau, though it seemed larger and airier than it ever was in his waking hours._

_It was empty too, his footsteps echoing as he walked around the kitchen; the room now devoid of all its furniture, all of Miranda’s knick-knacks, even the pot which usually hung above the fire was gone from its usual space._

_He walked outside onto the veranda, looking out on Miranda’s vegetable patch in search of his family when he heard it._

_The plaintive cry of an infant coming from the side of the house._

_James walked around the side of the house, rushing forward in shock when he saw Sarah laying alone in her cradle, garbed in a white baptismal gown, her cries increasing in volume until he lifted her into his arms._

_“It’s okay, I have you.”_

_Sarah settled, and James returned to his search for the rest of his family._

_John was standing behind the house, wearing cleaner clothes than James had ever seen on him. He stood looking vacantly out over the cornfields which extended from a few yards past the back of the house all the way back to the boundary fence._

_James approached slowly, waiting until he was within reach of John before placing his right hand on John’s shoulder._

_To his horror, John’s entire form began to crumble at the touch, the ashy pieces blown away in the wind until there was nothing left but the mocking sound of his voice; carried by the very same wind which had torn him asunder._

_“Did you think I could possibly stay, that I would not run once I was able to? You are a pirate, a murderer of innocents, the very epitome of a monster, and you would ask me to stay with you, love you, trust you with my daughter?”_

_The wind laughed._

_James turned away, Sarah still held in his arms, and walked back into the house, this time moving into the bedroom, only to see Miranda and Thomas both of them standing on the far side of the bed, their expressions blank as they spoke in tandem._

_“There is such rage in you James, such pain that we cannot heal.”_

_“Miranda? Thomas? What is happening?”_

_He stepped forward, through the bed, only stopping halfway through when Thomas and Miranda began to dissipate, both of them becoming smoky shadows of themselves before his eyes._

_“You were so gentle when you came to us first, was that all an illusion?” Miranda wondered aloud._

_“So timid when we first laid hands upon you, was it all farce?” Thomas questioned._

_“No,” James whispered, “No, there is nothing in our time together that I have made false, why do you doubt me?”_

_“Then how is it,” they questioned in unison, “That someone who loves us with such force could possibly be so cruel to the others in their life? You work your men to the bone, make it so they wish to incite mutiny against you. How do you differ from your former superiors? From Alfred, from Ashe, from Hennessy?”_

_“I love you,” James stepped forward, “Everything I do, I do to protect you, to keep us safe! I’m trying to build a world for us in Nassau, a place where we can be free!”_

_“Are we to be used as justification for the horrors which you inflict, then?”_

_James could do nothing but shake his head and gasp in horror. The shadowy figures of Miranda and Thomas faded away entirely until he was left alone in the room. He looked down at Sarah, only to find that she was glaring at him with accusing eyes which were far older than she._

_The world faded and he woke up._

James woke gasping for air, the need to see his family, to hold them in his arms overwhelming him.

It was only when he turned in his bed that he remembered that they were safe on Nassau, and he was aboard his ship. The chances of them crossing paths in the next five minutes were unlikely.

He walked out of his cabin, staggering to the side of the ship and letting the ever-present spray of the ocean water on his face calm him down enough for his breathing to return to normal.

There were some things which were universal constants in his life; The Atlantic was always going to fight his ship more than it would help it, pursuits would always feel like they took an age, and Thomas and Miranda would always love him.

He turned from the side and nodded to Mr. DeGroot as he walked up to the bowsprit where Logan and Gates were conversing.

“Any sign of the _Andromache_?”

Gates shook his head.

“Bryson is a competent captain, I’ll give him that. There’s every chance we won’t see her before midday tomorrow.”

“I suppose this brings up a question of when our pursuit of the _Andromache_ interferes with our pursuit of the _Urca_.”

Hal glared at him.

“You know as well as I do that if you take away the cannons, it will be virtually impossible to take the _Urca_ without losing most if not all of our men.”

James looked over to Logan, who despite seeming ready to shit his pants at the notion of incurring the ire of his captain nodded in agreement.

“We must capture the _Andromache_ , or we must abandon the Urca, and I doubt the men will be happy with the thought of abandoning a prize of 5 million dollars, especially when you have Vane’s crew hoping to consort with us.” Hal spoke softly, gently, as though the future of his crew and his life in Nassau wasn’t at stake.

He laid a hand on James’ shoulder.

“If she’s taking the course that you think she’s taking, we’ll be upon her by nightfall. You can’t do anything until then.”

James nodded.

He would wait.

* * *

The taking of the _Andromache_ was as challenging as anything else that seemed to happen in James’ life these days. He was not surprised by the difficulty, Bryson’s capacity for violence, or his crew’s reluctance to follow his orders.

He was surprised by the presence of Mr. Scott in the hold.

The true mastermind of Nassau seemed oddly resigned when Flint made his way down to the _Walrus_ ’ hold, an odd contrast to the barely restrained joy that the rest of the slaves seemed to feel and express.

Flint walked forward and crouched to be eye-level with Scott.

“Eleanor would never sell you, and Richard Guthrie is likely imprisoned on a ship somewhere on this very ocean. It raises the question of how you are here.”

Scott let out a low mirthless laugh.

“I made the mistake of trusting a white man to keep his word. I should have known better, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Scott sighed and looked away.

“You want to steal a fortune from one of the most powerful empires the world has ever seen. Do you really think you will be able to make a self-sufficient Nassau using their money without any reprisals?

“The whole point of this endeavour is to shore Nassau up against such reprisals. To make her strong, to free her from the subjugation of any empire, whether it be the British, the Spanish, the French or the Dutch.”

Scott laughed mirthlessly again.

“Your opponent is not some weak merchant captain who will take one look at your fort and your men and go running. You wish to start a war against Empires, their forces innumerable, the weakest of their ships twice as strong as the _Walrus_. Even when Teach had control of the island it would have been a hopeless task.”

“So you desire to aid the very people who would keep you under the heel of their boot?”

“I wish to prevent the same people who nearly destroyed New Providence Island in the Rosario raid from turning their eye to the rest of the Caribbean. It is well enough for a man to say he wishes to fight against injustice, but you do not seem to have considered the wishes of others in the sea.”

Flint stood and turned away from Scott.

“I understand that you are concerned with the wellbeing of Eleanor. You worry that she might suffer the same fate as her mother-”

“There is far more than just the fate of Eleanor at stake here. Say you do liberate Nassau, do you really think that people like me will be considered your equal? Will you free these slaves who you have captured? Or will you sell them for a profit?”

Flint frowned and turned back to look at Scott.

“You see, Captain, when you have lived a life like mine, you know better than to believe lofty promises made by pirates suffering from delusions of grandeur.”

Scott fell silent and Flint left. He walked up the stairs to the deck. He sought out Hal, finding him deliberating with DeGroot about where best to place the cannons in the hold.

“Any problems Mr. DeGroot?”

The surly pirate turned to look at Flint, the expression on his face dark as he gestured to where the men of the _Walrus_ were winching the fourth of the ten 12-pounder guns from the _Andromache_ to their own ship.

“There is some discontent among the crew about the fate of the slaves from the _Andromache_. And we do not have enough room to hold them and the cannons.”

Flint raised an eyebrow.

“What exactly is the kind of discontent that they are feeling?”

DeGroot moved uneasily, his hand folded in front of his chest and his eyes slightly downcast as he spoke.

“I will not pretend to be the best of men. No pirate can claim to be. But I feel uneasy at the thought of treating the very same men who ensured our victory over Bryson being sold like chattel property.”

Flint flicked his eyes over to Hal, and saw DeGroot’s uneasy posture mirrored in his quartermaster.

“And I take it that the other men are not so reluctant as you.”

“I fear,” Hal sighed, “That should it come to a vote, our chances of freeing these men and women is very slim, and I know for a fact that you do not have the funds to purchase their freedom outright.”

Flint sighed.

“You must know if I try to force the issue, we are not so far removed from a situation where these very same men would be willing to not only commit mutiny against me, but also slit my throat and throw me over the side.”

He frowned and rubbed his hand over his face. He had already captured the fucking _Andromache_ , and yet he was still expected to deal with the greed and short term thinking of men when all he wanted was to return to his family.

“I am tired, and it will be at least another few hours before we reach Nassau. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. DeGroot?”

The sailing master regarded him with his dark and uncanny eyes. For a second it looked like he was going to raise his voice in disagreement, but after a few seconds the hard expression shifted and he nodded.

“Aye Captain.”

Flint nodded.

“I will deliberate on what to do with this, and I’ll give you my judgement on what is to be done. Mr. Gates I would speak with you in my cabin.”

“Captain.”

Flint waited for Hal to close the door before he let the mask of Captain Flint fall and the face of James McGraw to show through.

“I’m not sure I can see this through, Hal. Being Flint, chasing after this score, stabilising Nassau. It exhausts me,” he turned to face his quartermaster, sure that his face would clearly show how deeply tired he felt. “I don’t understand how you’ve done this for so long.”

Hal shrugged, his weary brown eyes seeming to search James’ face for something that he eventually found. He walked forwards and clasped James by the shoulder, offering a friendly smile before he began to speak.

“You have to remember why you became a pirate in the first place and let it fuel you. For you it’s your family. Where else would they be safe if not in Nassau?”

James sniffed, and stumbled towards his chair. He collapsed down onto it and thought of Hal, the steadfast quartermaster who had been by his side for ten long years with a sense of wonder.

“What is it for you?” He looked up at his quartermaster, standing with all the solidity of a rock, and gestured for him to sit on the other side of the desk. “What wrong, what slight would you say caused you to catapult down this dangerous path?”

Hal sat and shrugged, he rubbed the back of his head before he began to speak. “I grew up in a place where you had to work hard every day of your life to barely get by. It wasn’t fair. And maybe this life, this dangerous beautiful life where we rely on a harsh and changeable sea to bring us our prizes, maybe it isn’t fair either. But it seems to me to be fairer than anything else that was available for me. I love Nassau, and I want to see her thrive.” Hal sighed.

“Some days it feels as though I’m tilting at windmills.”

“You know I don’t know enough Spanish to have read that one.”

James laughed softly and smiled. He shrugged apologetically as he let himself sink slightly further into his chair.

“What should I do about the slaves? You know as well as I that we wouldn’t have those cannons without those men. You can’t possibly expect me to be happy with the idea of them being betrayed by the men they rescued.”

“No.”

“And we can’t afford to lose our crew now.”

“No,” Hal sighed. “Flint, James, you and I both well know that the role of a captain is to walk on a knife’s edge every day. Find something that will appeal to them.”

“Yes.”

James sighed.

“Gather the men, I’ll speak to them now.”

Hal left quickly, leaving James alone in his cabin.

Normally it was a comforting place. It was where Thomas had slept when James had rescued him from his father, where Abigail used to hide to try to go on adventures with her father, where he hoped one day Sarah might play when the ship was in port.

Now it felt as though the walls were closing in on him, forcing him towards the door and out onto the deck until he had made this situation right.

Hal and DeGroot stood at the front of the crowd, Dufresne and Logan at the back to prevent any escapes.

Flint returned and began his address.

“It has been brought to my attention that you are all concerned with the fate of the men and women Captain Bryson had in his hold. At first I was tempted to leave this matter and make a decision about their fate when we’re back home, but I realise now that it is a subject best addressed in the present moment. I don’t want anyone to forget their bravery, how they turned the tide of our fight against the crew of the _Andromache_ when we make a decision about their fate.”

There were grumbles of assent from the crew. He continued.

“We have a choice, to imprison these men and women, just as the very empires we seek to flee would; or to free them, as we seek to be free. We vote now, ayes to free, nays to sell.”

The ayes won.

James didn’t stop smiling ‘til they reached Nassau.


	13. And we are for the Dark

If John was to believe Miranda, which was something he was still quite reluctant to do, The _Andromache_ \- Eleanor’s ship from which she had promised the 12 pounder guns – had fled in the middle of the night, and the Walrus had begun its pursuit of her shortly after.

He didn’t really mind the fact that he had been deemed too weak to join James on the pursuit, given that he was still finding it difficult to walk much further than the length of a room, rather he took issue with the idea of being left behind with two people who he still mistrusted, especially when it came to the safety of his daughter.

So, as came naturally to him these days, he set about making a new life for himself and for his daughter. Even with the pain between his legs, and the heaviness of Sarah in his arms, it hadn’t taken too much effort to get on one of the horses and begin a slow ride into Nassau.

Of course, it might have been easier for him if he hadn’t been trying to escape from the former Lady Hamilton, who clearly had a good idea of what he’d been planning.

It took her only a bit more than twenty minutes to catch up with him, even though she was riding side-saddle and he was properly astride the horse.

“Much as I love a midnight horse ride, it might not be the best idea for you and Sarah right now.”

John looked down at Sarah, his beautiful daughter sleeping happily in the loose sling he had tied around his chest. He had one hand on the reins and one hand supporting her weight as he trotted slowly into town.

“I know that you’re trying to be nice, that you insist you mean neither me nor my daughter harm, but you must understand that I find it very hard to trust you, especially when James is away,” he sighed heavily and frowned in her direction. “I’m not going to stay in a house where she might come to harm, however inadvertently.”

He lightly kicked the horse to move forward, sighing as he heard the hooves of Miranda’s horse following him.

“You aren’t doing anything to endear yourself to me,” he looked over his shoulder glaring as fiercely as he could in the dim light. “I’m not returning to that house while Flint is away.”

Miranda hurried her horse forward, eventually coming up next to John.

“I won’t compel you to return, merely suggest that you seek shelter at James’ hut on the beach. Abigail will be there, and the men of _The Walrus_ will be able to provide you protection while you sleep.”

John nodded and urged the horse forward again, sighing out in relief when he heard Miranda turn back to the house. Sarah was still asleep, and so he was left to his own thoughts.

He was starting to believe that maybe, while there was still Gold to be found, that James could be trusted. Aside from pursuing him when he’d somewhat inadvertently stolen the _Urca_ schedule, he hadn’t tried to bring any harm down upon him, and he knew how to take care of Sarah properly.

Abigail, while young and somewhat ignorant of the world, seemed to be friendly and her affection towards Sarah came across as genuine adoration of someone resembling a sibling. The respect that she had showed him over the past few days helped.

Miranda and Thomas, on the other hand. They were unknown quantities, and they obviously came from a completely different sphere from him and Sarah. They would never struggle to keep a Belfast tinge from their everyday conversation, nor had they likely ever struggled with telling their children that there was a part of their identity that needed to be hidden away, lest they be brutalised by the people around them.

Leaving now was a sensible option, a safe option, the only option which guaranteed he would not need to resort to violent means to make an escape later.

It was past midnight when he reached Nassau town, and while in another place that might have meant that all was quiet, here everything was chaotically alive. Deciding that it wasn’t worth the trouble of going into the tavern, he rode along the outskirts of the town until he reached the beach and found the hut nearest the Walrus’ banner.

Billy had fallen asleep next to the hut’s door and John spent an inordinate amount of time opening the door slowly, waiting until it was open enough to fit him and Sarah before he snuck through.

He closed the door behind him, only to freeze when he found a pistol pointed directly in his face.

He stood completely still for a few moments as he waited for Abigail to put the gun down. The young brunette took a few steps back and placed the pistol back on the desk, leaning against the solid wood once her hands were free.

“You scared me half to death!” She turned her head to look at John, the fierceness in her eyes completely foreign to John. “It’s the middle of the night!”

John shrugged, he took a step forward towards the place he had slept a few days before, adjusting Sarah in her sling as he found the pile of sacks and lowered himself down onto them.

“Your father left, and I couldn’t stay in the house anymore.”

“Did mother turn you out?” Oh, how John wanted to laugh at Abigail’s naivety.

”I decided to remove myself and my daughter from a potentially dangerous situation. The only thing that your mother did was to suggest that I come here.”

Abigail sighed and walked forward, coming to stand next to him. She smoothed down her skirts and sat down next to him, looking at him with a look that would not have been out of place on her mother’s face.

“I don’t understand why you mistrust my parents, if Father was here, I think he’d tell me that there is too much of a gap in our experiences for me to ever quite comprehend your way of seeing the world. I will not judge you, whatever it is, because…” She trailed off and shook her head.

John frowned, “Because what?”

Abigail closed her eyes and leant against the cloth sacks. John turned to better face her, moving Sarah so that the baby was set between the two of them.

“When did you know?” Abigail’s voice was small and as she spoke, she brought her hands up across her chest, as though, to John’s mind, she was trying to shield herself from some inevitable, unstoppable blow.

“When did I know what?”

“When did you realise that you weren’t the way that the people around you thought you were?”

John sighed and shrugged, knowing that this was likely to be a conversation that spanned several days. He shimmied down onto his back, shifting Sarah so that there was no risk of him falling on top of her during the night.

“I would say fairly recently, though looking back on the various things that have happened in my life, I’ve noticed that there always was something about me, something different. I went from dressing like a man because it was, to my mind, an easier way of getting by to realising that I was one.”

Abigail nodded, her eyes still closed but her posture slightly less tightly coiled now.

“And how did people react?”

John sighed.

“Abigail, if you think that any of your parents are going to try to cast you out for being someone that the British empire would gladly murder, then you must be far stupider than you look. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted, and I’m pretty sure that Sarah is going to wake up in twenty minutes demanding food,” the Belfast was slipping into his accent but he really didn’t care by this point, “So I’m going to sleep, you’re going to sleep, and the both of us are going to have a good night’s rest before we have a long, fruitful conversation about this in the morning, yeah?”

Abigail opened her eyes, smiled, and shimmied down so that she was also laying on her side, facing Sarah.

“Do you promise me that you won’t chastise me or chase me out of the hut?”

John smiled and shook his head. “I’ve dealt with enough of that from the other side to know it isn’t a pleasant experience. Whatever you need to know, I’ll tell you in the morning.”

He closed his eyes, not surprised but definitely disappointed when he heard Abigail move restlessly.

“What if they were to throw me out of the house after they discover something about me?”

John opened his eyes and looked down at Sarah. From the minute she was born, apart from one regrettable lapse, he had tried his best to do what was best for her, what would protect her, what would keep them both safe. To offer Abigail protection might completely jeopardise that, and yet…

“If they kick you out, you, I and Sarah can go somewhere that will be safe for the three of us, yeah?”

He drifted off before he had time to hear Abigail’s reply.

* * *

The next morning, John and Abigail barred the door, much to the irritation of Billy, and set about having a civilised breakfast from what limited supplies were available to them in the hut.

John watched as Abigail set a very rough looking kettle on the small fire pit set in the very centre of the hut. Her movements were steady, her fear from the night before completely absent as she tipped some water into the metal vessel and turned to him.

“I think you and I are alike in a way.”

John smiled, placing Sarah down in one of the many empty crates, deeming the day to be far too hot to even consider covering her with a blanket.

“How?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean how are you similar to me? In what way do you consider us to be a strange sort of kin?”

Abigail frowned as she began a loop around the hut, her hands beginning to gesture as she made strange abortive sounds that might have been the discarded beginnings of sentences. Eventually once the water was boiling, she began to speak properly.

“I don’t like Billy.”

John frowned, taking a step towards the fire, wrapping his hand in a wet cloth before taking the kettle out of the coals and placing it on the desk. Flint could scold him for the mark on the wood later, after he’d averted whatever Abigail’s existential crisis happened to be.

“Well, I don’t like Billy much either, but that doesn’t mean that there’s much different about me.”

Abigail huffed and shook her head.

“I don’t mean that I don’t think he’s kind, and he’s lovely to talk to. I mean, I was taught there was a certain way that a woman was meant to feel towards a man, a very specific way, and I don’t feel it for him.”

John nodded confusedly, starting to understand what she was getting at but wanting to make sure anyway.

“I mean, you don’t have to like him specifically.”

“I’ve spent the past three days among these men, seeing them every day, watching them work, talking to them. And I don’t feel anything for any of them,” she looked down at baby Sarah, perhaps in an attempt to hide her face even though the worry on it was still clear from this angle, speaking softly as she continued. “And the more I think about being with one, the less it appeals to me.”

“I understand. And you’re worried that your parents will oust you from your house why? You have two fathers, two fathers who know each other in a decidedly biblical manner if I’m not mistaken.”

“They’re different, they can explain it away with philosophers, myths, legends. Can you think of even one story, modern or ancient, where there is a woman who doesn’t fall in love with a man? One where she has a happy ending?”

John sighed, his mind still caught on one thing.

“If you don’t like men, and trust me I can understand, we can be a terrible lot… I mean, how did you realise that you didn’t like them, if for your whole life you were told that you were meant to?”

Abigail looked up at him, her breathing positively ragged as she placed her hands on her hips and set herself into a defensive posture.

“I won’t deny that I have had a very sheltered life, for the most part I haven’t seen much outside the interior since I was seven years old.”

John nodded. “And you seeing the pirates of Nassau has shown you the many possibilities.”

Abigail smiled mirthlessly. “Their fence in particular,” she looked back down at Sarah, shaking slightly as she breathed heavily. “You can’t tell any of my parents, I beg you.”

John shook his head and smiled, he picked up the cloth again, and poured the hot water from the kettle into two tea-cups that Abigail had somehow magicked up from the many crates. He walked over to the other side of the desk, opening the draws until he found a glass bottle full to the brim with dried leaves. He poured out a generous portion of the tea into the cups and offered one to Abigail.

“I won’t. Your secret is safe with me, and my promise of a taking you away in the dead of night if all this threatens to ruin you still stands. But, I would suggest that you try talking to your Father at the very least. I haven’t been here long, but even I know that Eleanor takes women as lovers. If he’ll work with her, I find it very hard to believe that he’d castigate you.”

Abigail shook her head.

“I feel like I have been lying to them for my entire life.”

“You haven’t. I promise you that you haven’t.” John smiled and turned to the door. “Now, drink up.”

He walked over to the door and unbarred it, a very angry Billy waiting for them directly outside.

John nodded to Abigail with a smile that could easily be interpreted as a wince.

Needless to say, by the end of the day, his hands were wrinkly from all the potatoes that he had peeled.

* * *

John returned to the hut that night, after spending an utterly tortuous day with Billy tending to the only semi-lucid Randall. Aside from his brief interludes allowed to return to the wooden structure to see Sarah, he’d been completely separated from Abigail for the entire day, and thus, was unable to see if she had recovered from the revelation that she had relayed to him.

Instead he came to discover the beginnings of doubt in Billy, and already his mind was turning to try to figure out how to manipulate the situation in his favour.

The behemoth was standing by the door of the hut, a furrow upon his brow. John made to start a short conversation only for Billy to hold up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t know what exactly is going on in there, I don’t think that I want to know.”

“Let me assure you Billy, I have no designs on Abigail,” John frowned at the idea, which already felt pseudo-incestuous despite the short amount of time he had spent in her company. “So if you’re going to make an attempt to defend her honour, it would be a waste of breath.”

Billy sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Then we are in agreement on that front. Let me pass, lest you want Sarah to fuss about my absence.”

Billy shook his head and blocked the door, yet he did not say anything.

John sighed. “Spit it out Billy.”

“She seemed upset earlier this morning. I couldn’t hear your words, but the tone was clear.”

John smiled. “It wasn’t about you, not directly at least. Don’t worry Billy, there’s no risk of you breaking her heart because of some girlhood crush.”

Billy’s eyes widened in shock, John took the opportunity to slip past him and enter the hut.

Abigail looked up at him, it seemed that she had been playing peek-a-boo with Sarah, who gurgled as she always did when she seemed mildly entertained by the events going on around her. John walked forward and picked Sarah up, testing to see if she was hungry and sighing when it seemed she was.

Abigail made to stand up.

“I can go,” she brushed down her skirts, “distract Billy.”

John shook his head. “That might be awkward. I think I confused him.” He smiled down at Sarah as he brushed his shirt to the side and brought his daughter up to feed. “Though for what consolation it might bring, any illusions of a relationship were thoroughly quashed.”

Abigail smiled and turned towards the sacks that made up the beds.

John waited for Sarah to eat her fill before he too lay down to go to sleep.

* * *

When John woke in the morning, it was to the sight of a very irritated Billy Bones, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a highly amused Hal Gates.

The shorter quartermaster walked forward, coming to crouch in front of John, his dreadful moustache doing very little to mask his grin as he looked over the still sleeping Sarah and Abigail.

“Flint said he left you with the Barlows. I’m sure he’d be none too pleased to find out that wasn’t true.” He outstretched his hand, John taking it after a few seconds of hesitation.

“I find their hospitality lacking and their pastor to be deplorable. He’ll understand that I feel safer here.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

John shrugged and picked up Sarah, smiling at her as she opened her eyes and gurgled at him delightedly. _It was almost_ , he mused, _as though she hadn’t woken up five times in the night demanding food and cuddles._

“If he doesn’t, I would be delighted to remind him that there’s a boat to Port Royal on a near daily basis from here, and that there is very little stopping me from getting on it. I take it that you being here means that you returned from the Andromache safely?”

“Yes, we did.” John started at the sound of the resonant voice of his soulmate. He turned to see James, looking tired, slightly bruised, but overall not much worse for wear. The copper-haired pirate took a few steps forward, smiling lightly even as he nodded for Billy and Gates to leave.

“I know that you told me to wait at the farm-”

James held up a hand and cut him off. “There are worse places for you to be.” He smiled past John.

Abigail was just beginning to stir, and the expression on her face as she saw her father was something that John would be sure to treasure for as long as he lived.

“Father?” She propelled herself up, launching herself to put her arms around him, closing her eyes once she had succeeded in forcing the notorious Captain Flint back a few steps. “Mr. Bones said you might not be back for several days!”

“We caught him quite early, and his cargo was more than happy to aid us in forcing him off the ship. I’m fine. We’re all of us fine. How are things in Nassau?

John frowned as he looked at the dark shadows under James’ eyes. He walked forward waiting for Abigail to detach herself from James’ side before he brought Sarah forward for inspection.

“She missed you in your absence.”

James looked him in the eyes, a small regretful smile on his face. “Maybe in time she will prove to be an adept enough pirate to come with me.”

John sighed, “She would have to learn to leave her father behind to do that.” He sighed as James picked her up out of his arms and held her against his shoulder.

“There are people who he would be safe with if he learnt how to trust.”

John shook his head and walked outside.

He had told James the most damaging secrets that could ever be known about him. Had trusted the most notorious of Nassau’s pirates to protect him and yet it felt like the man spent every single moment they had together trying to turn him over to two people who resembled his swathe of tormentors.

No, it was very clear now that if John was going to provide for Sarah, he would not be able to trust the judgement of Flint. He would wait and see how Thomas and Miranda reacted to Abigail’s revelation, and then, depending on the outcome, he would go to Port Royal, and seek out a better life from there.

He walked over to the cooking tent and picked up the paring knife. He sat next to Randall and kept his eyes firmly focussed upon the task at hand, even as he saw the now familiar boots and leather pants approached and crouched in front of him.

“John, look at me.”

John sighed and met the green eyes. He resisted the urge to run away even as he took in the small frown, and the raised eyebrows.

“Where’s Sarah?”

“Abigail is holding her,” Flint sighed, “I’ve been thinking about how best to arrange my life, now that you are here, now that she is here, but you seem resistant to my attempts to integrate you into my family.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be incorporated into your family. Forced to follow your rules, to conform to their traditions, to put myself at risk if I try to raise my daughter as I was raised.”

Flint sighed.

“Maybe it would be best if we were to part ways then.”

John nodded, already planning his flight to Port Royal. He put the knife down, resisting the urge to wipe at his eyes, knowing that it would only end up getting potato in them. It might have been the fever addling his mind, but he’d actually had hopes for the whole soulmate situation thing.

“Did I leave anything at the house?”

Flint shook his head, a weary smile on his face as he stood.

“I don’t think that the crew would react well to you disappearing in the middle of the night. There’s no reason why we can’t be civil. It would hurt Abigail to see you disappear without a word. Once you have your share of the gold, if the arrangement is still intolerable to you, then we can discuss your leaving the island permanently.”

John shook his head.

“That would require me to leave Sarah in the care of someone, and as I can think of no person who I trust completely-”

“I’m sure Abigail will be perfectly happy to mind her, she has a good head on her shoulders.”

John sighed. He couldn’t deny such a good point, nor did he trust anyone on the island nearly so well as he did Abigail, especially after the last few nights. He picked up his knife again and continued peeling the potatoes in silence.

He heard Flint shift, and lifted his head again to look into the beautiful green eyes once again.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that we had to end things in this way.”

John smiled, leaning forward slightly to rest his forehead against Flint’s. _Maybe_ , he thought, _in another, kinder life, he might have been mine._

He couldn’t know that Flint was thinking the exact same thing.

Their quiet moment together was interrupted by very out of breath Gates running towards them.

“James,” he called, completely out of breath, his northern accent stretching the first syllable out almost to the point of parody. “You need to come to the tavern now!”

Flint stood, frowning at the quartermaster, confusion clear on his face.

“Why the fuck do I need to do that?”

Gates shook his head.

“Eleanor’s exiled all of Jack’s crew from the account while she’s still fence.”

John might have spent most of his time on the island in a state of confused fever, but even he knew that wasn’t good.”


End file.
